Chapter 4 - THE SEARCH IN THE RAIN
For two weeks, Dominic Moretti searched Chicago like a man possessed.
He hired three private investigation firms. He showed up at Emma’s former architecture office in the Loop, only to be escorted out of the building by private security after causing a scene in the lobby. He drove past her sister’s house in Evanston every night, sitting in his idling Mercedes, watching the dark windows until the police were called to issue a stalking warning.
Every lead went cold. Emma had systematically erased her digital footprint in Illinois. Her credit cards were canceled, her bank accounts transferred to a national private wealth management firm that refused to disclose her location without a federal subpoena, and her personal social media accounts were permanently deleted.
It was as if Emma Moretti had never existed.
On a cold Thursday evening in late November, Dominic sat alone in the vast, echoing living room of his Lake Forest estate.
The house was freezing. The domestic staff had failed to order the bulk heating oil for the secondary radiators because Emma was the only one who maintained the seasonal maintenance schedule. His mother was staying at an expensive private care facility in Barrington, complaining loudly via text every hour about the quality of the food and the rudeness of the nurses.
Dominic walked over to the entry console near the front door.
Sitting there, right where she had left them, were his hearing aids in their brown leather case.
He picked them up, his fingers trembling slightly. He opened the case and pulled out the tiny, high-tech devices he had spent three years using as a prop.
He remembered the night he had come home after his successful covert surgery in Boston. He had planned to tell her. But when he walked through the door, she was standing in the kitchen, humming a soft, beautiful melody while preparing a stew. She had turned, seen him, and instantly lowered her voice to a gentle whisper, using wide, careful hand gestures so he could understand her.
In that moment, a dark, arrogant convenience had taken root in his mind. If she thinks I can't hear, she won't pester me. She'll handle everything quietly.
He inserted the tiny earpieces into his ears, tapping the power sync button.
A soft chime sounded, and suddenly the ambient noise of the empty house flooded his mind—the hum of the refrigerator, the drip of a faucet in the guest bath, the whistle of the wind against the terrace glass.
He walked into his study, sitting down at his desk. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a small, wooden memory box that Emma had kept on her nightstand for years.
Inside were old letters from her father, her college graduation tassel, and a small, leather-bound journal.
Dominic hesitated, then opened the journal to the last entry, dated three weeks ago—the night before she disappeared.
“Dominic seemed so tired tonight,” her neat, elegant handwriting read. “He took his hearing aids out early. I made the chamomile tea he likes and left it on his desk. I wish I could talk to him about the baby. I wish I could hear his real voice again, just once. But I know he carries so much pressure from the firm. I will be patient. I will keep our home peaceful until he is ready.”
Dominic stared at the page, the breath catching violently in his throat.
The baby.
He reread the words three times, his chest tightening as if wrapped in heavy iron chains.
He grabbed the journal, flipping frantically to the back pocket inside the leather cover. There, folded neatly inside a small white envelope, was a glossy black-and-white printout.
An ultrasound scan.
Patient Name: Emma Moretti.
Gestation: 5 Weeks, 3 Days.
Date: October 14th.
The exact date she had visited his mother at the hospital. The exact morning he had brushed her aside in the hallway to comfort Vanessa.
Dominic dropped the ultrasound onto the desk, his hands shaking uncontrollably. A low, ragged sound broke from his chest—a sound of pure, unadulterated agony that echoed off the empty walls of his three-million-dollar house.
She wasn't just carrying a child. She was carrying his child. His wife’s child.
And he had let her walk out into the rain holding that tiny piece of paper, believing he was a monster who only cared about another woman's womb.
Dominic grabbed his phone, dialing Gabriel’s number.
“Gabriel,” Dominic choked out, his voice raw and unrecognizable.
May you like
“Dom? Where are you? Vanessa’s mother called, she’s demanding to know when the engagement announcement—”
“Shut up,” Dominic roared into the phone, slamming his fist onto the desk so hard the wood cracked. “Hire every private investigator on the West Coast. I don't care if it costs ten million dollars. Find my wife!”
