Chapter 8 - The Maid's Reward
The following morning, sunlight broke through the clouds over the DeLuca estate, illuminating the rolling green lawns and white marble terraces that had lay dormant for two months.
In the grand study, the silver-framed photograph of Isabella remained on Lorenzo’s desk—no longer a monument to grief, but a memory of what had been restored.
The heavy doors opened, and Sophia entered the study, holding little Emma by the hand. The housekeeper looked nervous, holding her apron tightly in her fingers, unsure of what awaited her after the storm of the past forty-eight hours.
Emma was still clutching her gray stuffed rabbit, her small thumb in her mouth as she looked up at the high ceiling.
Lorenzo stood up from behind his desk. Beside him stood Isabella, dressed in a warm ivory sweater, looking healthy and vibrant.
When Emma saw Isabella, her eyes went wide. She let go of her mother's hand and took three cautious steps forward.
"The lady from the train station," Emma whispered softly.
Isabella dropped to her knees on the Persian rug, extending her arms with a warm, tearful smile. "Hello, Emma."
Emma ran forward and threw her arms around Isabella’s neck. Isabella hugged the little girl tightly, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Thank you for saving my life, sweet girl," Isabella whispered against her hair.
Sophia wiped a tear from her eye, stepping forward nervously. "Mr. DeLuca... Mrs. DeLuca... I'm so sorry I didn't say anything sooner—"
"Sophia," Lorenzo interrupted gently, walking around the desk. "You protected your daughter. You did what any good mother would do."
He picked up a leather folder from his desk and handed it to Sophia.
"What is this, sir?" she asked, opening the cover.
"That is the deed to a four-bedroom home in Westchester, near your sister's neighborhood," Lorenzo explained smoothly. "Along with a fully funded trust account that will pay for Emma’s education through university."
Sophia gasped, dropping her hand over her mouth. "Mr. DeLuca... I can't accept this! It's too much!"
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"You and your daughter gave me back my wife, Sophia," Lorenzo said, his voice ringing with absolute, unyielding sincerity. "There is no amount of money or property in the world that equals that debt. The house is yours. And your job here at the estate remains yours for as long as you wish to stay."
Sophia looked at the deed, then at her daughter laughing with Isabella on the rug, and wept tears of pure, overwhelming gratitude.
