Part 4 — They threw me out of an eight-day trip, but when they heard my calm call at the airport, everyone stopped talking at once

At Nino’s last words I jumped to my feet.

“Who is in the house?”

“We do not know yet,” she answered. “The patrol found the door open.”

Maresi grabbed my hand.

“Grandma, do not go alone.”

“I will never go alone again,” I told her.

We went straight from the airport to my house. On the way Nino answered two calls, while the police officer repeated the address details to us. The sky was darkening, and the first drops of rain fell on the windshield.

Two cars stood by the house.

Theoron’s car.

And a black van in which tools for changing the lock were arranged.

Theoron was standing at the door. Vesper was standing beside him, holding the spare key to my living room.

“Mom, you finally came,” Theoron said.

“This is my house.”

“We only wanted to help.”

Nino stepped forward.

“Step back. The police are on their way.”

Vesper smiled bitterly.

“You are presenting all this far too dramatically.”

“Really?” I asked. “Then listen to yourself.”

Nino played the recording. In the sound of the rain, Vesper’s voice was heard: “She will have nothing left to return home to.” Then Theoron’s words: “We will tell her that she is confused.”

My son froze.

Vesper looked first at Nino, then at Theoron.

“This was obtained illegally,” he said.

“It was recorded accidentally,” Nino answered. “And you yourself confirmed that it was genuine.”

“I confirmed nothing!”

“You just said that this is not your voice,” Nino told him calmly. “But then you admitted that the conversation in the recording took place in your kitchen. The court will hear both versions.”

The patrol car appeared at the end of the street.

Cressida got out of the black van, holding a folder in her hand.

“This is all a misunderstanding,” she said. “We are family.”

“Family does not steal a person’s right to choose,” I answered.

Theoron leaned toward me.

“Mom, please, let’s just go inside the house and talk.”

For the first time I saw fear in his eyes. Not the fear of losing me, but of losing control.

“Theoron, you have already said everything.”

The police officers took their folders from them. Nino handed over the forged medical letter, the printed pages of the conversation, and the order to change the lock.

No one was arrested there. But that same evening the court issued a temporary restraining order according to which none of them could approach my house or my accounts.

Cressida shouted that it was a conspiracy against her.

Vesper threatened Nino.

And Theoron stood silently.

Then he heard his own voice for the second time. Nino played the recording again, this time only his words.

“What if she resists us?”

“We will tell her that she is confused.”

Theoron lowered his eyes.

“I did not mean it that way,” he said.

“But that is exactly what you said,” I answered.

The lawyer who had participated in their plan refused representation the next day. He sent Nino a letter saying that he could not continue participating in possible fraud. His letter was the first document in which someone had rejected them.

Three days later I entered the house alone.

The living room looked strangely empty. Theoron’s childhood photograph had been taken down from the wall. Only a small bright square remained on the dusty wall.

On the kitchen table lay the folder Cressida had left.

And beside it lay my elephant-shaped luggage tag. It had fallen from the bag at the airport and I had not noticed.

I picked it up.

A small spot of rain remained on its leather.

That night I did not call Theoron for the first time to ask whether he was all right. For the first time I slept without thinking about what anyone needed from me.

Three weeks later the court determined that there were no grounds for their guardianship request. The forged letter was handed over to the investigation. Compensation for the financial loss continued as a separate case, but I no longer expected to get the money back.

I wanted only my life to be mine again.

Maresi came to me every Saturday. In the very first week we tidied the attic together. She found old pots, and I found flower seeds.

“Grandma, will you open the shop again?” she asked.

“Not the old way.”

“Then how?”

“I will make a small workshop. For those who seek calm through flowers.”

Six weeks later I rented a small room near the old city library. I painted the walls warm yellow. I placed pots of lavender by the window. Every morning at seven I went there, brewed tea, and taught children how to plant their first flower.

Maresi brought me a sign painted by her own hand. It said: “Elene’s Little Garden.”

Until the first snow, Theoron contacted me only once.

He sent me a short message: “Mom, can we start over?”

I stared at the screen for a long time.

Earlier, at such times, I would immediately call him. I would apologize for something I did not deserve to apologize for, and ask whether he needed anything.

This time I wrote only one sentence.

“Starting over is possible only when you no longer hide the past.”

He replied the next day.

“You are still my mother.”

That was true.

But I was no longer his child.

I gave no answer.

Several months later the bell on the door of my small workshop rang. It was snowing outside. Maresi stood by the window and was drawing a flower on a white sheet of paper.

“Grandma, who is it?”

I approached the door. Theoron stood on the threshold. He was holding a small paper bag in his hand.

“I brought this for you,” he said.

“Take it home.”

His face tensed.

“I just want five minutes.”

“And I want peace.”

He lowered his head.

“I no longer know how to talk to you.”

“Try with the truth for the first time.”

He stood in the snow for a long time. Then he put the bag on the ground and left.

Maresi locked the door.

“Did you behave badly?” she asked me.

“No. I simply did not act against myself for the first time.”

I did not open the paper bag. In the evening I put it in the trash bin.

When I returned home, I saw the elephant-shaped luggage tag on the worktable. The leather had already dried, and the rain spot had almost disappeared.

A small scratch remained on it—from that morning when I was putting the suitcase into the car and thought that my family was coming beside me.

Now I hung that tag on the door of my workshop.

Every time the bell rings, I look at it first.

Then I open the door.

And I no longer let anyone into my life at the price of losing myself.