I Refused the Moretti Name Chapter 10
Six months later, I bought a two–bedroom apartment in Brooklyn Heights.
Only Elena Hart appeared on the deed. I chose the brass nameplate myself, and there wasn’t a Moretti crest anywhere on it.
My colleagues helped assemble the bookshelves on moving day. Vivian brought champagne, while Maya gave me a lockbox for spare keys. No one picked the curtains for me, and no one tried to fill the empty rooms with gifts that suited somebody else.
I chose a deep green sofa, plain white dishes, and curtains heavy enough to block the morning sun. None of those decisions mattered to anyone but me, which was precisely why I enjoyed making them. Freedom wasn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it was a receipt with only your own signature at the bottom.
One week before my birthday, Mom sent a message.
[We’d like to have dinner with you, if you’re willing. You choose the time and place.]
I replied, [Saturday at six. Don’t bring anyone I haven’t approved.]
They arrived on time. Dad carried white tulips. Luca brought the red wine I’d requested. Matteo came without medicine or medical advice, and Nico held a lemon–cream cake level in both hands.
Sofia came too. She was a little thinner than she’d been six months earlier, but healthier. She stopped outside and asked, “May I come in?”
I stepped aside. “You may.”
My dining table was too small for everyone, so Nico fetched a chair from the balcony. Mom didn’t assign places. She looked at me first. “Where would you like to sit?”
I pulled out the chair by the window. “Here.”
No one mentioned who used to sit between our parents.
Before dinner, Sofia handed me Aurora’s six–month report. An independent committee had approved every expense, and her label no longer used Moretti Holdings vendors.
“I’m applying for a design job,” she said. “No foundation connections, and Dad isn’t allowed to make a call.”
“Can you stick with it?”
“I don’t know.” She met my eyes instead of reaching for an easy promise. “If I fail, the consequences should be mine.”
I nodded. “That’s worth more than swearing you won’t fail.”
After dinner, twenty–nine slim candles glowed on the cake. Mom watched the flames, her eyes shining. “We missed every birthday before this one.”
“Twenty–eight of them.”
She nodded without asking me to soften the number. “Twenty–eight.”
Dad’s voice was quiet. “One apology isn’t enough.”
“Not even close.”
“Then we won’t stop at one.” He folded his hands on the table. “You set the distance. We’ll show you with our actions whether we can be trusted inside it.”
I blew out the candles and cut the first slice.
Mom’s hand moved by habit, as if she meant to pass the plate to Sofia, but she stopped before touching it. “Who gets the first piece?”
I set it in front of myself. “The birthday girl.”
Sofia was the first to laugh. “As she should.”
The cake was sweet, but it no longer tasted like compensation delivered years late.
When dinner ended, Mom paused at the door. “Will you ever come back to the estate?”
“This is my home.”
The light in her eyes dimmed, but she didn’t ask me to take it back.
I continued, “If you want to visit, ask first. If I’m free and I want company, I’ll open the door.”
Dad took the rule seriously. “Understood.”
He didn’t reach for the spare key hanging near the door. Mom didn’t ask whether there was a room for her things. Luca didn’t offer to upgrade the security system. They let the apartment remain mine, even while they stood inside it.
Sofia left last. She looked at my nameplate. “Do you still spell everything out?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t it get exhausting?”
I thought about the question. “It used to. I kept pushing people to admit what they’d done because I thought I needed their permission to be hurt.”
“What about now?”
I rested my hand on the door and looked at the brass plate carrying the name I’d chosen to keep.
“Now I don’t need anyone’s permission.”
After they left, I carried the cake back to the kitchen and found a message from the family chat I’d once abandoned. Luca had created a new thread only after asking whether I wanted one.
[Thank you for having us. We got home safely.]
Mom added, [The next visit is your call.]
Sofia wrote, [Happy birthday, Elena. The first slice looked good on you.]
I smiled and set the phone down. I wasn’t waiting for a seat at anyone else’s table anymore.
From then on, where I sat was my call.
