Until The Last Day (Claire and Lorenzo) novel Chapter 11

Lorenzo’s POV 

I was in the study, standing by the desk, my hand on the drawer. 

I didn’t know where to start looking anymore, but the last thought I had on the way home was Claire’s wish list. She wrote everything down. If she had left clues, they would be on paper. The drawer stuck a little. I tugged. It slid open an inch. 

Suddenly, my phone rang. 

An unknown number flashed on the screen. I almost let it go to voicemail, but something in my chest tightened. 

“Hello?” 

“Mr. Moretti?” A man’s voice, formal. “This is the police station. We’d like you to come in to discuss Mrs. Claire Moretti’s situation.” 

My throat closed. “Is she-” 

“We’ll explain when you arrive.” 

The line clicked dead. 

I didn’t change my shoes. I didn’t grab a coat. I just drove to the police station, as quick as I could. 

The police station sat on a corner I knew too well. 

As soon as I stepped out of the car, a strange feeling swept over me. It looked familiar, almost like deja vu. Like a dream I’d had and forgotten.

Then I remembered. 

The last time I was in this neighborhood, I had seen Claire rolling away from this very building. I had asked what she was doing here. She had smiled and said nothing. She had changed the subject. We had moved 

A cold wave passed through me. My intuition began to ring like an alarm I had been ignoring for weeks. 

What’s about to happen began that day. 

I told myself a story to stay upright: maybe they’d found a trace of her. Maybe a camera caught her. Maybe she had turned in a missing person form for herself as some strange joke. Maybe-anything but what my mind kept trying to say. 

I pushed the door and stepped inside. 

A staff member led me to a small office. A desk. Two chairs. A window that looked onto the street. The man checked my ID, asked my name, noted the time. 

“Mr. Lorenzo Moretti,” he said, glancing at the file, “you’re Claire Moretti’s husband. You are still legally married?” 

“Yes,” I said. “But why do you ask such a question?” 

He frowned, almost to himself. “Strange. Last time she was here, she said you two were getting divoreed.” 

My heart jumped. “Last time?”  

He nodded. “She applied to cancel her registration. She presented documents. We consulted supervisors. Her case fit the exceptional criteria.” 

I gripped the back of the chair. “But how can you process an account cancellation for a living person without consulting the partner?” My own voice sounded far away. “Was she not healthy and alive when she came here?” 

“Yes. She was alive when she came.” he said. “She was lucid and physically stable. Otherwise we would not have proceeded.” 

A thin breath of relief left me. It lasted a second. 

“Mr. Moretti,” he continued, “we’ve contacted you because you can now complete the process.” 

The relief died. 

“Since you aren’t divorced, you are the legal next of kin,” he said gently. “We need your signature to close her file. There are follow-up items, including notifications and the status of her personal record.” 

My mouth went dry. “What?” 

He glanced at the page. “Please accept my condolences.” 

For a moment, there was only white noise in my ears. The sound of paper. The hum of a vent. The slow tick of a wall clock. 

“I see she was disabled and severely depressed-a truly unfortunate person.” He cleared his throat, softer now.