Helena had left, taking all the light with her. Now in front of these two soaked and desperate children, the words seemed to carry a weight he had never imagined. Get in the car, he said, taking off his coat and placing it over the shoulders of the nearest girl.
We’re going to the hospital. The two looked at each other, surprised. But you don’t even know us, said the first girl.
Thomas felt a pang in his chest. Your mother knew my wife. That’s enough for now.
The walk to the car was silent. Thomas opened the back door, and the girls got in, still hesitant. He turned the heater on full blast and grabbed a blanket he always kept on the seat.
As he drove through the deserted streets on that rainy morning, he watched in the rearview mirror the two small figures huddle together. They were shivering, but not just from the cold. What are your names? he asked, breaking the heavy silence.
I’m Lily, replied the one who had spoken first. And she’s Rose. Thomas almost smiled.
Lily and Rose. Flower names, like Helena. His wife loved flowers.
She had cultivated a huge garden at home. Could there be a connection there too? How long has your mother known, knew my wife? The question came out harsher than he intended. Lily exchanged a glance with Rose before answering.
I’m not sure, sir. My mom only talked about Mrs. Whitmore when she was very sick. She said she had saved us once.
That she had paid for important things when we were very little. Thomas gripped the steering wheel tightly. Paid for important things.
Helena did have a charitable foundation, yes, but he knew all the main cases. He reviewed the reports quarterly. He had never seen the name Laura Davies anywhere.
How was this possible? The hospital appeared ahead, huge and gray under the storm. Thomas parked near the emergency entrance and turned off the engine. For a moment, no one moved.
He looked at the girls again through the rearview mirror. Rose had her eyes closed, as if praying. Lily stared at him with that frightening hope.
All right, Thomas said, opening the door. Let’s go see your mother. He didn’t know what he expected to find in room 312.
He didn’t know what answers he was looking for or what questions he should ask. He only knew that since Helena’s death, this was the first time in two years he felt something beyond emptiness. As they walked through the hospital’s white corridors, the two girls clinging to his blanket, Thomas wondered what secrets his wife had taken to the grave.
Room 312 smelled of disinfectant and death. Thomas stopped at the door, watching the woman lying in bed.
Laura Davies was young, perhaps 35, but the illness had stolen any trace of youth. Her skin was yellowed, her eyes sunken in their sockets. Tubes and wires connected her body to machines that beeped at a constant rhythm.
She turned her head when she heard footsteps, and her eyes widened when she saw her daughters, Lily, Rose. Her voice was weak, broken. The girls ran to the bed, holding their mother’s hands carefully, as if she would crumble to touch.
Laura cried, trying to smile through the pain. Then her eyes met Thomas’ standing at the entrance. Her face changed completely.
Terror, relief, gratitude, all mixed into an expression Thomas couldn’t decipher. Mr. Whitmore, she whispered. You came.
Thomas entered the room, closing the door behind him. The girls found me at the cemetery. They said my wife promised to take care of them.
He kept his voice neutral, controlled. I need to understand what’s happening here. Laura asked her daughters to move back a little.
They obeyed, sitting in the chairs in the corner, still holding hands. The woman took a deep breath, each inhale seeming like a battle. Your wife saved my life five years ago.
I was in the same hospital, dying. I didn’t have money for treatment. Helena appeared like an angel and paid for everything.
Surgery, medications, everything. Thomas felt his blood run cold. Five years ago.
He remembered that period. Helena had started dedicating herself intensely to the foundation. She spent entire days out, returning late, exhausted but happy.
He had thought it was just her philanthropy expanding. He never questioned the details. Why would she do that? Thomas asked.
How did you meet? Laura closed her eyes for a moment. I worked as a cleaner in your company’s building. One day, I fainted in the bathroom.
Your wife found me. Took me to the hospital and discovered I had advanced cancer. She didn’t abandon me.
She came back every day. The story sounded true, but something bothered Thomas. Helena was generous, but also practical.
She didn’t make impossible promises. And she promised to take care of your daughters if you died? Just like that, out of nowhere. His voice came out harsher than he intended.
Laura opened her eyes again. There was something there, hidden beneath the gratitude. Fear, perhaps.
She said she understood what it was like to be afraid of leaving people you love. She said that if something happened to me, she would make sure my girls were okay. She had me sign some papers.
Said it was to protect them. Papers. Thomas felt the first wave of anger.
Helena had made legal arrangements without consulting him. She had committed their assets to a stranger and her daughters. How could she? What kind of papers, he asked, trying to stay calm.
I’m not sure, Laura admitted. It was a lot. There were lawyers…
