Part 4 — The Letters Found Under the Mattress After the Guests Left Drained the Color from Andrei’s Face

After Marika’s words, a heavy silence descended over the house.

“Who?” Andrei asked.

The answer did not come immediately. From the other side of the phone, only a child’s cough could be heard.

“Your father,” Marika finally said. “But he can no longer tell you why.”

Galina hid her face in her hands.

Andrei stood up and walked across the room twice.

“But Father died three years ago.”

“Before his death he left a letter with a lawyer,” Marika said. “The letter said that if the truth was not revealed, everything should be handed over to the police.”

Galina raised her head.

“I did not know that he had done this.”

That same evening a black car stopped near our house. A lawyer named Zaza entered with a small wooden folder. The corners of the folder were worn, as if someone had carried it in their hands for years.

“Your father-in-law came to me six years ago,” he said. “He told me that Galina was hiding the letters and was not allowing him either to call you.”

Andrei laughed heavily.

“So both parents knew.”

“Your father later tried to correct things. But he was already ill. He prepared a letter, evidence, and a request for you to contact Marika and the child.”},{

Zaza opened the folder and turned on a recording. The hoarse voice of an old man sounded in the room:

“Andrei, if you are hearing this, know that your child is alive. Your mother became afraid, and you have been paying the price of someone else’s fear your whole life.”

Andrei closed his eyes.

Galina was crying, but did not make a sound.

This was the first time Andrei had heard his own family’s words through someone else’s mouth. He could neither escape them nor interrupt them. Every sentence stood before him like a mirror.

“I will take her,” he said.

“You have to see the doctor first,” I warned.

“I know.”

At night we went to the hospital. Andrei needed blood tests, documents, and consent forms. At dawn the doctor told us that he really was a compatible donor.

“The operation can be performed,” the doctor said, “but you must make the decision quickly.”

“Do it,” Andrei replied.

Marika was standing in the hallway. When I met her for the first time, she was holding a small yellow backpack. Elene was hiding beside her, and only one eye could be seen.

Andrei knelt in front of her.

“I’m Andrei.”

The girl looked at her mother.

“Is he my father?”

Marika nodded with tearful eyes.

Elene extended her hand toward Andrei very carefully.

“You’re late,” she told him.

Andrei lowered his head.

“I know. But now I’m here.”

Before the operation, the police took Galina away for questioning. She was charged with deliberately hiding information about the child and obstructing the transfer of documents. Galina tried to justify herself.

“I was only protecting the family!”

Marika answered calmly:

“A family does not protect itself by hiding the truth.”

The trial took place several months later. I sat beside Andrei in the courtroom. Galina entered with a small bag and could not look at us for a long time.

The lawyer refused her defense.

“I cannot say that this was a mistake,” he said. “My client was warned for years and still continued hiding the letters.”

The judge listened to the recording, studied the letters, and looked at the medical documents. Galina was sentenced to a suspended sentence, mandatory psychological assistance, and compensation for Marika and Elene.

But the punishment was not the hardest thing for her.

After the trial Andrei asked her only one question:

“Why didn’t you tell me, Mother?”

Galina’s lips trembled.

“I thought I would lose you.”

“You yourself made me lose nine years.”

She heard these words aloud for the first time. Her face tightened, as if it were someone else’s voice, but it was the voice of her son.

Two weeks after the operation Elene came to our house. I tidied the guest room again, but we changed the bed. We threw away the mattress. And we kept the brown bag in a drawer.

Elene stuck her drawing to the wall of the room. Four people were depicted: Marika, Andrei, me, and Elene herself. They all had very large hands.

“Why did you draw us with such hands?” I asked.

“Because now we will not let each other go anymore,” she answered.

Three months passed.

Every Wednesday Andrei accompanied Elene to the doctor. Marika rented a small apartment a few streets away from us and began living peacefully for the first time. I arranged the study in the old house again, but I no longer locked the guest-room door.

One evening we received a letter from Galina. It was short.

“I want to speak with you at least once. Just five minutes.”

Andrei read the letter for a long time. Then he folded it.

“Will you answer?” I asked.

“Not now,” he said. “Forgiveness is not an obligation. Elene’s peace is more important for now.”

He did not send a reply. I did not object either.

In winter the first snow came. Elene stood by the window and drew little houses on the glass with her finger. Andrei was preparing cups of hot cocoa in the kitchen, while I was arranging things in the study.

I opened the drawer and took out the brown bag. The white thread caught in the teeth of the clasp was still there.

At one time this thread meant a mystery to me.

Now it only reminded me how easily a truth hidden for years can wait for one small movement.

Elene called to me from the room:

“Come and look! I drew our house in the snow.”

I returned the bag to the shelf and ran toward her.

This time I left the door open.

In the end, the truth still found a way toward the light.