Chapter 2 - THE DOCTOR WHO CHANGED THE REPORT
I didn't sleep that night.
Not because I was afraid of losing my job.
Although I was.
And not because Vanessa had humiliated me in front of fifty people.
I'd survived worse.
What kept me awake was Sofia's voice.
Even if I never walk again?
I could still hear it.
The uncertainty.
The shame.
The terrible belief that her father's love might depend on whether her legs worked.
At twenty-five, I knew enough about people to recognize cruelty.
But there was something particularly ugly about teaching a child that her disability made her unwanted.
At six the next morning, I entered Sofia's bedroom carrying breakfast.
She was awake.
Her stuffed rabbit sat beside her pillow.
“Morning, sunshine.”
She looked at me.
“Is Vanessa gone?”
“Yes.”
“For good?”
I hesitated.
“Your father will explain everything.”
Sofia stared at the ceiling.
“Do you think Daddy's mad at me?”
I put the tray down.
“No.”
“But he broke up with Vanessa because I stood up.”
I sat beside her.
“Sofia, your father made that decision because Vanessa lied and treated you badly.”
She looked at me.
“Not because I ruined the dinner?”
“Absolutely not.”
She thought for a moment.
Then whispered:
“Can we practice today?”
I smiled.
“We'll ask your therapist what is safe.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
Downstairs, Luca stood in the kitchen wearing yesterday's shirt.
He looked exhausted.
Dante sat across from him with a laptop.
When I entered, both men stopped speaking.
I almost turned around.
Luca noticed.
“Emily.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Please sit.”
I hesitated.
“Is something wrong?”
He shook his head.
“I want to ask you about Sofia's therapy.”
I sat.
He leaned forward.
“Have you been helping her practice every afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't I know?”
The question hurt.
I looked down.
“Because Vanessa said you didn't want to be bothered.”
Luca's face changed.
“She told you that?”
I nodded.
“She said you were struggling with Sofia's condition and didn't want false hope.”
He closed his eyes.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then Luca said:
“I should have asked more questions.”
I looked up.
He continued.
“I let Vanessa manage appointments because she said she wanted to help.”
His voice tightened.
“And I was grateful.”
Dante turned the laptop toward us.
A medical report appeared on the screen.
It was dated three weeks earlier.
According to the document, Sofia had shown no meaningful improvement in lower-limb function.
The recommendation was to reduce rehabilitation intensity and consider long-term residential care.
I stared.
“That isn't what her therapist told me.”
Luca looked at me.
“What did she say?”
“She said Sofia was making progress, but slowly. She wanted to continue supervised therapy.”
Dante clicked another file.
A second report appeared.
Same date.
Same patient.
Different findings.
This one documented measurable improvement in muscle activation, assisted standing tolerance, and rehabilitation goals.
Luca went still.
“Where did that come from?”
Dante answered.
“Sofia's actual therapy provider.”
I stared at the screen.
“Then what's the first one?”
Dante looked grim.
“That's what Vanessa gave Luca.”
Luca pushed back his chair.
He walked toward the window.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he turned.
“Emily.”
“Yes?”
“Did Sofia ever tell you she was afraid of Vanessa?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
His expression changed.
“How long?”
“Months.”
He looked devastated.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
I stared at my hands.
“Because Vanessa said she'd fire me if I complained.”
He waited.
I continued.
“And because I thought you believed her.”
Luca sat down again.
His voice was quiet.
“I'm sorry.”
I looked up.
He met my eyes.
“I should have made sure Sofia felt safe telling me things.”
I had worked for wealthy families before.
I'd heard apologies that sounded like instructions.
This wasn't one of them.
Later that morning, Sofia's regular rehabilitation team was contacted.
An independent medical review was arranged.
Luca insisted that all future discussions include Sofia's treating clinicians and that decisions be based on her actual condition and wishes.
By noon, Dr. Lorenzo Bianchi had called.
He wanted to speak with Luca privately.
When Luca put him on speakerphone, Lorenzo sounded troubled.
“Mr. Moretti, I need to clarify something.”
Luca looked toward me.
“Go ahead.”
The doctor hesitated.
“Vanessa told me Sofia's latest assessments were unavailable because her original rehabilitation team had discontinued treatment.”
Luca's jaw tightened.
“That was false.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“And there is another issue.”
Luca leaned forward.
“What?”
“Someone submitted an altered medical summary under Dr. Keller's name.”
Silence.
Then Lorenzo added:
“I contacted Dr. Keller's office. They say the signature may not be authentic.”
Luca looked at Dante.
Dante was already reaching for his phone.
That evening, I found Sofia sitting beside her bedroom window.
She was holding a photograph of her mother.
Elena Moretti had died when Sofia was seven.
In the picture, Elena stood beside Luca in a garden, smiling while Sofia sat on her father's shoulders.
“Emily?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Do you think Mommy would be proud of me?”
I sat beside her.
“I think she'd be proud of how hard you've worked.”
Sofia looked down.
“Even if I still need my chair?”
I took her hand.
“Your wheelchair doesn't make you less brave.”
She smiled faintly.
Then whispered:
“Vanessa said Mommy left me something.”
I frowned.
“What?”
Sofia pointed toward the photograph.
“A house.”
My stomach tightened.
“What house?”
May you like
She looked at me.
“The one Vanessa said we'd lose if I got better.”
