Part 4 — At the Christmas Table, My Child Was Not Called Family, but After My Toast, My Mother’s Smile Disappeared

The next morning I went to lawyer Irakli’s office. It was raining outside, and water lay on the sidewalk in small mirrors.

Nora was at school. Matt told me that he would take her there himself and pick her up afterward.

Irakli locked the door.

“Last night the buyer handed over all the files to me,” he told me.

On his desk lay documents executed with my signature, bank statements, and a small memory card.

“They extracted this recording from the camera system at their office. The buyer had a security backup copy.”

“Is it my father’s voice?”

“Yes.”

Irakli turned on the recording.

At first the rustling of papers was heard in the room. Then Father’s voice.

“Salome will sign everything. If we mention Nora, she may resist.”

Mother’s voice could be heard more quietly.

“But Belle is our true blood. We will leave everything to her anyway.”

“Salome must learn to save the family all her life. Otherwise, she too will remain outside.”

The recording continued.

Tiffany was laughing.

“The main thing is that Belle must not find out that Salome is paying for everything. Then she will think that Grandma and Grandpa built the business.”

I lowered my eyes.

I was listening to the voices of my own family as if it were the conversation of strangers. But one thing hurt me most: they were not discussing Nora by name as a child who would be hurt. They saw her as an obstacle.

Irakli turned off the sound.

“Now it is clear why the documents said that you were only a temporary manager. They used your trust.”

“Are these documents valid?”

“No, if it is proven that you were not fully informed and the signatures were obtained by misleading you. Besides, the bank transfers show that you financed the business.”

“I do not want their ruin.”

Irakli looked at me for a long time.

“Protecting yourself and Nora is not punishing them.”

By midday Mother had called me twenty-three times. Then Father left a voice message.

“Salome, come and let us negotiate. You are our daughter.”

For the first time, in those words I heard not love, but fear.

In the evening they came again. This time Tiffany came with them too. Belle stayed in the car.

“Irakli called us,” Father said. “He said he was stopping the deal and officially checking the documents.”

“That is not my fault.”

“You can stop everything,” Mother said. “Tell him that the recording means nothing.”

“You yourselves said everything.”

Tiffany came closer to me.

“Do not turn our children against each other because of one recording.”

“You have already turned them against each other. Belle learned that Nora is lesser.”

Mother lowered her eyes.

“We simply wanted Belle to have a secure future.”

“Why did you have to take Nora’s future away for that?”

No one answered.

That night I sent an official letter to the buyer. I confirmed that I was no longer the company’s representative, but I did not accept responsibility for documents executed in my name. Irakli prepared a request to invalidate the signatures and return my money.

The next day Mother tried to regain control. She called the bank as if I were acting without her permission. The bank refused her.

The supplier stopped new orders.

The buyer canceled the deal.

Irakli also told them clearly:

“Until you return the full amount to my client and correct all the documents, I will sign no statement in your name.”

That was the first time Father heard his own voice from outside. At the preparatory court meeting, Irakli played the recording once more. Father sat in a chair and could not move.

“Salome will sign everything,” sounded in the room.

Father moved his lips.

“I did not mean it that way.”

“But you said it,” Irakli replied.

Mother hid her face in her hands.

And Tiffany realized for the first time that her silence was also in the recording.

Three weeks later, the upper room of our old house was completely emptied. Mother and Father handed over the keys because without my money they could no longer pay the rent for the office. I did not go there. Only one thing remained with me from them: Nora’s broken paper star from Christmas evening.

Nora joined its two parts with transparent tape.

“Now it is stronger,” she told me.

“Did you do it?”

“We did it.”

Six weeks later I started a small consulting service. I helped local craftsmen manage their shops themselves and not depend on someone else’s name. In the mornings I accompanied Nora to school, then I worked in a small café. I always had one place chosen by the window.

Matt built a bookshelf in the new apartment. Nora drew four figures on the wall: me, Matt, herself, and our dog Luka. Above them it again said: “Our home.”

One evening, when the first snow fell, Nora was sitting in the kitchen doing her homework.

“Mom, now if someone asks me how many grandchildren Grandma has, what should I say?”

Snowflakes fell against the window.

“What is true.”

“That she has one?”

I sat down beside her.

“That you are not obliged to carry someone else’s lie.”

Nora put down her pencil.

“I have two parents. One family. That is enough.”

Several months passed. First Mother asked me for money, then apologized, and finally wrote me only one sentence: “Christmas is approaching, perhaps we can start over.”

I looked at the message for a long time.

Matt asked me nothing.

Nora entered the room.

“Who is it?”

“Grandma.”

“Will you answer?”

I put the phone on the table.

“I already answered.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That our door is open only to those who do not question your place. She will not come this time.”

Nora rested her head on my shoulder.

“Are you sad?”

“A little.”

“But you are not afraid anymore?”

I went to the window. The golden star joined with transparent tape still hung there, where we had first hung it. Its middle was slightly crumpled, but it still caught the light.

“No,” I told her. “Now I am not afraid anymore.”

Outside, the snow began falling more heavily.

Inside the house, Nora’s voice sounded:

“Mom, there are four of us, right?”

I smiled.

“However many of us there are. We are enough for one another.”

The golden star quietly shone on the window.

Our home no longer belonged to anyone who had not earned the right to be there.