On my sixtieth birthday, all six children disappeared, and when the policeman saw my name on the folded letter in his hand, he turned pale

That evening, when the policeman left a folded letter at my door, an apple pie was baking in the oven, while the plates of all six children waited for their owners untouched.

It was nine in the evening. The smell of cinnamon and butter stood in the kitchen, and seven glasses on the table were darkening the light. I had specially polished the old, scratched silver spoons that years ago disappeared into the children’s pockets and then accidentally turned up in the washing machine.

Everyone had their own place. I put a piece of cinnamon cake for Sara, fried potatoes for Luka, and for Mariam the salad that she ate in childhood only because of my promise. Niko always said that my soup was the taste of childhood for him. Elene still asked for honey bread. I put a separate small bowl for David, because in childhood he ate from the others’ plates and then pretended to feel guilty.

All six would come. That was what they told me.

At six in the evening I checked the phone. Nothing. At seven I wrote to Sara: “Are you on the way?” In reply I received only two gray marks. At eight I called Luka. The call rang, then broke off.

“Probably there is a traffic jam,” I told myself and left the soup on low heat on the stove.

But in the voice with which I uttered these words, I no longer believed myself.

For ten years, Daniel, their father, and I had been collecting noise in this house. The sound of chairs scraping, feet pounding on the stairs, children fighting and making up. Daniel said that an empty house resembled death to him.

Then one day he followed a woman he had met on the internet to another country.

“I need to find myself,” he told me on the threshold, while in his hand he held the suitcase I had bought.

“You have six children, Daniel.”

“They are already big enough.”

The youngest was four years old then.

After that day I stocked shelves in a supermarket, cleaned offices at night, and baked pancakes for the children in the morning. Once a pipe burst and the entire kitchen flooded. Before the children returned from school, I removed the water, repaired the pipe, and put the pot back on the fire. That night I drew six little stars on the kitchen wall with a pencil. One for each child.

Now those drawings had already faded.

Four hours had passed since the first guest was supposed to arrive. Wax from the candles had spilled over the surface of the cake because I had lit them and extinguished them again several times. At last I sat alone at the table.

“Happy birthday, Clara,” I said quietly to myself.

Then someone knocked on the door.

At first I thought one of the children was joking with me. I quickly stood up, straightened my apron, and went toward the door. A policeman of about thirty was standing on the threshold. In one hand he held a dark-green folder, while with the other he tightly held a small folded sheet, as if he were afraid the wind would carry it away.

“Mrs. Clara Moreno?”

“Yes.”

He looked at my face and immediately raised his gaze.

“This is for you.”

“Who gave it to you?”

Before answering, the policeman straightened his tie. A silver-colored ring flashed on his finger.

“Read it alone. But please, do not call anyone at home yet.”

My fingers were trembling so much that I had difficulty unfolding the paper. Only one sentence was written on it: “Mother, if we did not come today, know that we have not forgotten this. Father did something that we can no longer hide.”

The signatures of all six children could be seen below.

“Where are they?” I asked.

The policeman took a step back.

“I cannot tell you here.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No. At least, not at this moment.”

That “at this moment” stuck into my heart like a knife.

He opened the folder slightly, but immediately closed it again.

“Your children asked me to give you this first. If you decide to come, a car is waiting for you at the end of the street.”

“Where should I go?”

The policeman looked at his watch. It was ten at night.

“There, where you will first learn why no one sat at your table.”

Something heavy and metallic from inside the folder touched the edge of the table. He slowly reached toward the lock, and I took one step forward…

The folder’s lock opened at exactly the moment when the headlights of the car at the end of the street slid across my window.

“First tell me, are they alive?” I asked.

“They are alive,” the policeman Irakli answered me. “But one of them cannot speak.”

“Why?”

He lowered his eyes.

“Because he feels guilty.”

I felt cold in my stomach. I took my bag, turned off the stove, and left the cake on the table. When locking the door, I looked back. Seven chairs stood empty. On David’s smallest chair there was a scratch remaining from childhood, which I had never repaired.

In the car Irakli sat at the wheel. My children’s bags were arranged on the back seat. Sara’s red scarf, Luka’s work card, Mariam’s yellow umbrella. These things were simultaneously calming and frightening.

“Where are we going?”

“To the old warehouse, near the harbor.”

“Why are my children there?”

“Because something that your family hid for ten years is kept there.”

It began to rain on the road. Raindrops collided with one another on the windshield, while inside the car there was only the monotonous sound of the wiper.

“Does this concern Daniel?” I asked.

Irakli’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“You yourself said his name.”

“Where is he?”

“We have not found him yet.”

“Then are my children with him?”

“No. But they gathered there because of him.”

When I reached the warehouse, I found the door half open. Inside was the smell of old wooden boxes, wet iron, and kerosene. One lamp flickered at the far end. There stood all six of my children, close to one another, as if years of separation had to be hidden in one night.

Sara ran toward me first. Her hair was stuck to her face from the rain.

“Mother, forgive me.”

“Why didn’t you come home?”

“Because he was already there at home,” Luka said.

I heard Mariam’s breathing from the corner. Niko stood against the wall, turning a small, rusted key in his hand. Elene was crying, while David had both hands over his face.

“Who was in the house?” I asked.

No one answered me.

“Tell me right now.”

Sara opened her bag and took out a small plastic device. A green light blinked several times.

“This is a camera,” she said. “Father installed it in your house.”

My knees gave way.

“What are you saying?”

“We found it three weeks ago. It was hidden in the clock in the living room.”

“Why would he watch me?”

Luka looked at Irakli.

“Because he needed your signature.”

“For what?”

Niko spoke for the first time.

“For the house.”

The iron door rattled from the wind in the warehouse. I was trying to find an answer among their faces, but all of them were hiding the same fear.

“My house is completely paid off, isn’t it?” I said.

“That is what you thought,” Mariam answered. “A new debt was found at the bank. In your name.”

“I signed nothing.”

“We know,” Sara said.

“Then why did you hide it from me?”

David raised his head.

“Because Father called us and said that if we told you the truth, he would take the house from you that same night.”}]},{

These words hurt me more than their not coming.

“You left me alone in order to protect me?”

“We thought it was necessary,” Elene said quietly.

Irakli put the dark-green folder on the table.

“The recordings taken from the camera are here. Also the bank documents, copies of the telephone conversation, and one audio file.”

“Why here? Why not at the police station?”

“Because before the material was officially handed over, someone from my department revealed the folder number. Daniel knows that you discovered all this.”

At that moment Irakli’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and changed color.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Your lawyer, Mrs. Vega.”

“Put her through.”

Irakli answered. He listened silently for several seconds, then slowly lowered the phone.

“She says that the contract for selling the house must be signed tomorrow morning.”

“What sale?”

Sara bit her lip.

“The contract that you have never certified.”

Irakli opened the last pocket of the folder and took out a small voice recorder. Its red light was already blinking.

“Mother,” Luka said, “when you hear this, you will understand why Father told us that your birthday had to remain empty…”

Irakli touched the recorder’s button…

First a hoarse voice sounded from the recorder, and then Daniel’s laughter.

“She suspects nothing,” he was saying. “Clara always trusts emotions. If six children do not come, she will blame herself and sign anything, as long as the family does not fall apart.”

It seemed as if the air disappeared from the warehouse.

I leaned on the table with both hands. A crack cut into the wooden surface pierced my palm, but I could not feel the pain.

A second voice sounded on the recorder. It was a woman.

“If the house is sold, will the debt be covered?”

“Not the debt,” Daniel answered. “I am getting money for a new life. Clara will be left with the children. That is enough for her.”

Sara covered her face with her hand.

“This is the woman he left with,” she said.

At the third voice I immediately recognized my former lawyer, Mrs. Vega.

“The signature resembles hers. The notary will not ask excessive questions.”

The recorder stopped.

For several seconds no one said a word.

“Did you know this?” I asked Irakli.

“We received the recording today. But we still needed the main evidence.”

“The camera?” I asked.

Luka turned on the device. My house’s living room appeared on the small screen. The time was two at night. Daniel was entering through the window, holding a black bag. He took down the clock, put a camera inside it, and then went to my desk.

His fingers appeared on the screen. He opened the drawer and photographed copies of my identification documents.

I was a stranger to myself on the screen of my own house.

“Why didn’t you tell me immediately?” I asked the children.

“Because we wanted first to obtain proof of everything,” Sara said. “Father convinced us that as soon as we went to the police, he would destroy the house because of your debt. And we believed him. Even after ten years.”

“And I thought you had forgotten me.”

David looked toward me.

“We did not come on your birthday because we knew Daniel was watching us near the house. If we acted normally, he would think we had discovered nothing.”

“And the letter?”

“We all signed it,” Elene said. “For the first time in our lives, we agreed on one thing.”

Irakli took documents out of the folder.

“Here is the bank examination. The signature is forged. Here is the camera recording. Here is the telephone conversation. And this is the temporary order obtained from the court that protects the house from being sold until tomorrow.”

Tears came into my eyes.

“Temporary? So he can still come back?”

“He can try,” Irakli said. “But now it will be much harder for him.”

At that moment my phone rang. An unknown number appeared on the screen.

“Don’t answer,” Sara told me.

But I had already picked up.

“Clara,” Daniel’s voice sounded. “I know where you are.”

I said nothing to him.

“Do not believe the children. They want to take your house away. I am the only one who is protecting you.”

For the first time in ten years, his voice no longer seemed familiar to me. I heard it only as the echo of an empty room.

“You tried to sell my house,” I said.

Silence fell on the other side.

“I was doing this for you.”

“You were taking a debt in my name?”

“Clara, calm down.”

“You were spying on the children?”

“Everything had its reason.”

Sara placed her hand on mine. Her fingers were cold.

“And my birthday?” I asked.

Daniel breathed out heavily.

“Managing your emotions is the easiest way.”

That phrase ended everything.

Irakli saved the recorded call in front of my eyes. Then he looked toward the door, because the sound of a car engine came from outside.

“He is here,” he said.

Headlights lit up at the warehouse gate. Daniel’s car slowly stopped, and the silhouette of a woman could be seen in the back seat.

Irakli took out his phone and said quietly:

“Mrs. Clara, the police are already on their way, but he does not yet know that the heaviest evidence was found not in his car, but in your own house…”

At that moment a new message appeared on my phone screen…