No Longer Your Rose Chapter 08
I stood outside the police station.
A fierce gust of wind tangled my hair wildly, but my heart was calm.
Sophia was led out of the car. When she saw me, she charged like a madwoman.
Her eyes were red, her voice raw. “Isabella! Why’d you have to pop back into my life? Why not rot away in prison?”
The officer held her back firmly. “Calm down.”
I stepped back and looked at her coldly.
“Sophia, you brought all of this on yourself. After I got out of prison, I never bothered any of you.”
“But you wouldn’t leave me alone. You deserve this.”
She froze for a second, then started screaming again. The wind carried her words away before I could make them out.
The evidence was solid. The case wrapped up quickly.
Sophia was convicted of hit-and-run, assault, and malicious prosecution. She was handed fifteen years after multiple convictions ran concurrently.
Theo and Dario were sentenced to three years each for covering up the crime and giving false testimony.
Before they went to prison, I went to see them.
Dario looked at me, his voice rough. “Isabella, I’m sorry. All the stocks rightfully yours have been signed over to your name. Go visit your parents when you have time.”
I said nothing. I just looked at him.
“Sorry” came too late.
Theo stood in the doorway and gave me one long look.
His eyes held guilt, regret, and many things I couldn’t name.
Then he turned and walked through the prison gates without looking back.
Later, I closed the barbecue shop.
I didn’t keep a single cent of the Santoro family’s annual dividends. I donated all of it to schools in underserved communities.
Every year, I went to different places to volunteer as a teacher, moving from one village to the next.
Three years later, Theo and Dario got out of prison.
I heard that Sophia had gone crazy inside.
She said the same thing every single day.
“I am the only true Santoro Principessa. I am the Donna of the Moretti family.”
I saw the two men again at an elementary school in a small town in the southwest.
They had donated a shipment of books and sports equipment. The school principal was showing them around the playground.
I was standing at a classroom door, about to go teach, when I saw them across the field.
Dario looked much older, and Theo had lost weight—there was gray in his hair now.
They stopped when they saw me.
I nodded at them, then turned and walked into my classroom. I didn’t look back, but I didn’t avoid them either.
After that, every school I taught at received donations from the Moretti and Santoro families—new libraries, sports equipment, fresh playgrounds.
The children were happy, running around and laughing.
At dusk, after all the kids had gone home, I stood on the playground. The
setting sun painted the sky orange and red.
I looked up at the sky.
“Mom, look. I’m doing okay.”