Part 4 — My Father Was Fed by a Poor Woman at Night, but When I Followed Her Trail, a Stranger’s Face Suddenly Turned Pale

After Clara’s words, no one moved for several seconds.

My father had his hands covering his face.

And I understood for the first time that during the last five years I had not been carrying only Victoria’s betrayal in my heart. Another, older resentment lived inside me—the resentment of childhood, which I had never given a name.

“Talk to me about my mother,” I told Richard.

He lowered his hands.

“Let us wait for the doctor first.”

“No. Do not protect me with a lie once again.”

Clara reached for the glass of water placed beside the bed. The glass trembled slightly.

“He must tell the truth now,” she said.

Richard closed his eyes.

“I did not abandon your mother.”

“Adrian said that you left her alone.”

“Adrian always sells half the truth at the highest price.”

Niko opened the bag and took out a yellow folder.

“All the payments for your mother’s medical expenses are here,” he told me. “The final payment too.”

He handed me the sheet.

The payment date was three days before my mother’s death. Richard Ashworth was written as the payer, but an address in another city was indicated.

“Why a different address?”

Richard answered me quietly:

“Because at that time the creditors were checking all our accounts. I acted under other people’s names to protect the company. I did not abandon your mother. I was in the hospital every day.”

“Then why did I think you were not there?”

Richard bit his lips.

“Because I promised you I would save her. When I could not, I became afraid to look into your eyes. I left for several weeks to settle the company’s debts. I left you with your grandmother and thought I would return soon. Then your mother died. And you believed that I had run away.”

My father’s voice broke.

“I was not enough of a father, Damian. But her death was not my fault.”

Anger rose inside me, and then broke apart. For years I had lived with that anger because it was easier to blame my father than to admit that he also could not stop death.

That same morning Victoria and Adrian went to the company’s main office.

We were there too.

Pale morning light reflected in the glass walls. The security officers already had the court order obtained by Niko, which restricted their entry. Adrian forced the door open.

“This is my company too,” he shouted.

“No,” I told him. “This is my company’s building.”

Victoria put a black bag on the table.

“Damian, do not complicate things. We are asking only for what legally belongs to us.”

“You mean the money you stole from me?”

Her face changed.

“That is slander.”

Niko inserted the memory card into the computer.

Our own voice sounded in the room.

“‘Damian cannot control his emotions. When Victoria signs, the company will be in our hands.’”

It was Adrian’s voice.

Then we heard Victoria’s laughter.

“‘He needs only two things—my tears and a reminder that he is afraid of being left alone.’”

Victoria froze in place.

Adrian looked at the monitor.

“This was obtained illegally.”

“The recording was made in your own office,” Niko replied. “The security system had the right to record audio in the room where you discussed financial transactions.”

Victoria turned toward me.

“Damian, you know that I loved you.”

I looked at her and felt nothing for the first time.

Neither hatred.

Nor the desire to answer her back.

Only exhaustion.

“You loved the life you received together with me,” I told her.

“That is not true.”

“Then why did you transfer money from my account to Adrian’s account?”

She had no answer.

Adrian pushed the chair aside with his foot.

“You understand nothing. We only took what already belonged to us.”

Niko placed the second document on the table.

“The audit conclusion confirms that the two of you concealed the money through seven companies. It is enough for a financial-crime investigation to begin.”

Adrian looked at his own hand for the first time. He still wore the old silver ring on his fingers, which he had worn since childhood. With that very hand he had signed the documents by which he sold my trust.

The police arrived within several minutes.

Victoria stepped backward.

“Damian, please, do not do this.”

“I am doing nothing.”

“You can stop this.”

“No. You did this on the day you sent my phone number to Adrian and thought I would not find out.”

She lowered her hands.

But Adrian did something strange. He listened once more to his own voice, which in the recording said: “Damian is afraid of being left alone.”

Adrian lowered his eyes.

“Did you really think that about me?” I asked.

“You were always weak in this matter.”

“No. I had trust. And you considered it weakness.”

The police officers put handcuffs on them.

I moved aside.

I did not look at them when they led them away.

In the evening I returned home.

I had left my mother’s room unchanged for years. Her books, a small wooden comb, and an old photograph lay on the windowsill. That night I entered for the first time and realized that the room was not preserving a memory—it was preserving my life, which had stopped.

I took my mother’s things out of the cabinet.

My father’s old brown coat was hanging there too, because that night I had found a small paper that had fallen from its pocket. The paper had the address of Clara’s food stall and the date of the first visit.

Under that date Richard had written: “Perhaps Damian will not see it yet, but this woman is genuine.”

I enclosed the paper in my hand.

I did not like my father’s intention.

But I knew that his desire still came from love, even though he had chosen the wrong path.

Two weeks later Richard left the hospital.

We went to Clara’s stall for the first time during the day.

The sun fell on the walls, steam rose from the pots, and the small copper bell lay on the stall.

“Now you will pay,” Clara told Richard.

“How much?”

“Double.”

My father smiled.

“Fair.”

I took out my wallet.

Clara caught my hand.

“Not you. Today is your first free portion.”

“I am no longer hungry.”

“That is not for you to decide, but for me.”

The three of us laughed together.

Three months later I regained the daily management of my company. I hired two new auditors, changed the old financial system, and met the employees personally for the first time in years, without hiding behind a phone screen.

Richard established a charitable foundation in the same district where Clara’s stall stood. Clara refused to receive money directly, but agreed to open a small food center where people were helped not only with food, but also with finding work.

I went there twice a week.

Sometimes I cut potatoes.

Sometimes I cleaned tables.

Clara still told me that I did not hold the knife correctly.

On the first snow of winter I went to her and saw a little girl drawing three people on the wall with chalk. One held a large pot, another had a folder in his hands, and the third had a large heart.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“You,” the girl answered. “And this is Grandfather.”

“Why do I have a folder?”

“Because you still do a lot of work.”

Clara passed beside us.

“The girl understands you better than you do.”

That evening I received a message from an unknown number.

It was Victoria.

“Damian, I have lost a lot. I know I do not deserve forgiveness. But perhaps we could meet at least once. I will explain everything.”

I looked at the message for a long time.

Then I calmly wrote back:

“I have nothing left to explain. I wish that someday you can at least be honest with yourself.”

I pressed block.

My hand did not tremble.

Nor did my heart hurt.

It was not a victory. It was simply the moment when I stopped trying to save the consequences of someone else.

In the evening I took the small copper bell at Clara’s stall and attached it to the door. The wind moved it slightly.

A jingling sounded.

Richard sat on a chair, Clara stirred the pot, and I warmed a hot plate in my hands.

For the first time in a long while, no one was lying to me.

And for the first time I understood that love is not forcing belief.

It is a place where you can sit, eat, and not need to prove yourself.

The copper bell sounded again.

This time I no longer followed fear.