Part 4 — My Stepfather Put a Price on My Marriage, but When I Opened the Car Door, Natalia’s Smile Immediately Disappeared

The sound of tires could still be heard when the head of security locked the door. Footsteps quickened in the corridor. Natalia’s attempted escape was captured by the hotel cameras, but she did not get far. Levan’s assistants found her near the rear exit.

Andrii immediately made several calls.

“Hand everything over to the investigative service,” he told them on the phone. “No, not in the morning. Right now.”

I stood in the corner and looked at my father’s chain. Levan placed it on the table. The silver was worn, and in one place it had a small round scratch. In childhood, my father wore this chain only on special days.

“Where did you find this?” I asked.

Levan looked toward the window.

“The man was holding it.”

“Who is he?”

Andrii did not answer. The noise below grew louder. A few minutes later the door opened and two investigators entered. Behind them stood the same man whom I had noticed at the window.

He was approximately fifty years old. He wore a dark coat, and raindrops ran down his beard.

“My name is Irakli,” he said. “I am Davit Kavtaradze’s brother.”

This was the first I had heard of it.

My father had a brother. Natalia had never mentioned him.

Irakli took the chain and placed it in his palm.

“I gave this to Davit when he was twenty-one. He called me before his death and told me that if anything happened to him, I should help Olena.”

“Why were you late?” I asked.

“Because Natalia hid all your father’s letters. Only three days ago did I receive a message from his old lawyer.”

The police brought Natalia into the room. Her wet hair clung to her face, but her firmness was no longer visible.

“Irakli, do not confuse this child.”

“She is no longer a child, Natalia. You remembered this only when you needed her signature.”

One of the investigators played the recording. Natalia’s voice sounded in the room:

“The girl will sign in the morning. If she resists, Savchuk will take her.”

The recording ended.

Natalia listened to her own voice as if she were hearing it for the first time. Her face crumpled. She looked toward me.

“I was doing everything for you.”

“No. You were making something out of me.”

“Your father left me debts.”

“The audit showed that you transferred the money.”

“I was only trying to survive.”

“Yourself.”

Natalia lowered her eyes. It was the first time I had not demanded an answer from her. I no longer needed one.

Savchuk was also found soon. He was heading toward the city airport when investigators stopped him. His lawyer called me the next morning.

“Mrs. Kavtaradze, we can reach an agreement.”

“I am not interested.”

“Your family’s reputation will be damaged.”

“That family has been damaged for a long time already.”

“If you sign a renunciation of claims, Savchuk will return part of the money to you.”

“Do not contact me again.”

I ended the call.

After that, the days became alike. Investigators came, asked questions, and took documents. A case was opened against Natalia for fraud and coercion. Savchuk’s accounts were frozen. Temporary management was established in the company.

I lived in a small hotel room while Levan found housing for me. For the first time in my life, I locked the door from the inside and kept the key myself.

A week later they arranged for me to meet Natalia in the investigator’s room. Iron bars could be seen on the window. Documents lay on the table, and beside them lay that silver chain.

“Olena,” she told me, “you must know at least one thing. If I had not come into your life, you would have ended up on the street.”

“Maybe.”

“Your father did nothing for you.”

“But you did?”

For the first time Natalia could not answer me.

“I cared for you.”

“Care does not begin with a lock and does not end with a sale.”

She fell silent. I stood up.

“I am no longer going to protect you from the consequences you yourself created.”

This was not revenge. Quite simply, at last her burden was no longer on my shoulders.

Three months later, management of the company officially passed to me. I was not happy. I did not arrange a celebration either. On the very first day I told the employees that every contract would be checked again and that no one would lose their job merely because the former manager was in prison.

Andrii gave me a small room in the new office. The roofs of the city could be seen from the window. In the morning I brewed coffee myself, because now no one asked me how much sugar I deserved.

Irakli visited me once a week. He told me stories about my father that Natalia had never told me.

“Did Father really sing in the car?” I asked once.

“Very badly,” Irakli laughed. “But he was convinced that he sang wonderfully.”

For the first time, laughter came together with pain when I spoke about my father.

Several weeks later I moved into a small apartment. I hung only one picture on the wall—my father, young and awkwardly smiling. I had a blue cup in the kitchen, and in the bedroom I placed a low chair near the window. Windows no longer frightened me.

On the first winter morning, snow came. I went out into the street and buried my shoes in the snow. My feet no longer hurt, but when I remembered that night I still felt the wet concrete and the bitterness of the rain.

Andrii called me.

“The final hearing is in court today.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to come to you?”

I stood by the window. My father’s chain was in my hand.

“No. This time I will go alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“It is the first time I am.”

In court, Natalia partially admitted her guilt. Savchuk’s deal was canceled. The investigation confirmed that my father’s death had been caused by poisoning, but Natalia’s direct participation in the matter was not proven. She knew that my father was ill, deliberately did not call a doctor, and then used his signature.

The court issued a verdict against her.

I quietly left the courtroom.

I felt neither victory nor joy. Only lightness.

One year later I opened a small charitable center for women whose families threatened them or forced them to pay someone else’s debts with their bodies. I hung a simple sign on the door: “Free Choice.”

To every woman who came there, I said the same thing:

“You are not a debt. You are not a deal. You are a person.”

Sometimes children came with them. A girl named Mariam drew a house for me on a sheet of paper. The house had large windows and all the doors were open.

“Is this your house?” I asked.

“Ours,” she answered.

The word stayed in my heart.

That evening, when I closed the center, I found a message from Natalia on my phone.

“Come just once. I have a lot to say. I am still your family.”

I looked at the screen for a long time. The old Olena would probably have gone immediately, in order to calm someone else’s conscience.

But I replied only once.

“You are my past. My life no longer belongs to you.”

Then I blocked the number.

Outside, the first snow was still falling. A small bell hung by the center’s door. When the wind blew, it rang softly, as if reminding me every time that the door now opened and closed by my hand.

I no longer wore my father’s chain around my neck. I placed it in a frame on the center’s wall, as a reminder of the night when I first ran not toward someone, but toward myself.

That night I was barefoot.

Now I stand firmly on my feet at the door.