I approached and gently pushed the wood. Inside lay a yellowed envelope. When I pulled it out and looked inside, my world collapsed. Inside was a photograph of a beautiful young woman, likely from the mid-1970s. She had long brown hair, deep eyes, and a radiant smile for the camera. On the back, written in pencil, was a single name: Beatrice.
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The shadow of a doubt over an entire life
The secret of the wedding ring: a forty-seven-year-long mystery.
Along with the photograph was a piece of paper handwritten in a woman’s hand. I could only read the first few sentences before tears clouded my vision: “Stefano, I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, but I’m convinced that she finally deserves to discover the whole truth you’ve kept from her for so long…”
I closed the letter with a feline snap, unable to move on. My mind, wounded and frightened, began to weave the most painful and destructive plot possible. Perhaps Stefano had loved another woman for all these forty-seven years? Perhaps Beatrice was the mother of a secret child born before or during our marriage?
