My Former Partner Accused Me of Selling the Song on Stage, but One Calm Question from Me Would Drain the Color from His Face

At the moment when Julian Mercer brought a twelve-year-old contract to my face, I still did not know that my unborn child would save our past or finally separate us.

The document photographed on his phone flashed before my eyes. At the top it said Agreement for the Transfer of Copyright and Exclusive Management. Below stood a signature resembling my name.

But it resembled it only from a distance.

“I did not write this,” I told him.

Julian gave a bitter chuckle.

“Twelve years have passed, Mara. Are you really going to tell me that you no longer remember your handwriting?”

“I remember my handwriting. This is not it.”

“Then where did the money go?”

In his voice sounded not anger, but the pus of an old wound. The anger that had quietly grown for years and now, among Christmas garlands, in front of the children, had finally risen to the surface.

I was twenty-four when I worked with Julian in a small studio. He played the piano, and I wrote the lyrics. The song “Home Before the Snow” was created on the night when the first snow came to the city, and we wrote the words in blue ink on an old menu. I still had half of that menu, tucked into the back pocket of a book.

Julian told me that the song should belong only to us.

Then Grant Hall, our manager, called me and said that Julian had moved to Nashville, signed a contract, and no longer wanted to speak with me. When I went to the studio, I found the door locked. Only my old papers lay on the table, and half of that menu was no longer among them.

I called Julian.

He did not answer.

Then Grant blocked my number.

Even years later I thought Julian had left me because his dreams had turned out to be bigger than me. Now he stood before me and told me that I had sold everything.

“Grant sent me this contract,” he said. “On the same day he told me that you had taken the money and disappeared.”

“How much money?”

“Seventy-five thousand dollars.”

The baby moved strongly inside my stomach. I immediately put my hand on my belly, as though with that small movement someone was reminding me that arguing with this man was no longer the only problem in my life.

“Who is the account holder?” I asked.

“Mara Alison Royalties Services.”

I closed my eyes. My middle name was Rose. I had never used Renee. I had never had such a company. Nor a bank account.

“Julian, my name is changed on this document.”

“You cannot destroy what happened years ago based on one letter.”

“No. But one letter is sometimes enough to prove that a contract is forged.”

At that moment Theo came out of the tent again. He was holding a small paper cup, with foam running down its edge.

“Uncle, why are you pale?”

Julian quickly turned off the phone screen.

“Everything is fine.”

Theo looked first at him, then at me.

“Grandmother says that when grown-ups say that, everything is not fine.”

I smiled involuntarily, but heaviness appeared in my throat.

“Your grandmother is smart.”

Julian did not take his eyes off me.

“If you claim this, come to my lawyer tomorrow morning.”

“Why?”

“Grant is still alive. He still runs a music foundation. And a week ago he sent me a new letter in which he demands the return of all rights to this song.”

“You trust him, don’t you?”

Such exhaustion appeared on Julian’s face as you see only in people who have fought their own memories for a long time.

“I no longer know whom I trust.”

He took a folded paper from his pocket. The wind immediately touched its corner and almost tore the sheet from his hand. Julian pressed it against his knee, then moved toward me.

“I received this this morning,” he said. “Grant writes that if we do not sign by tomorrow noon, he will publish everything publicly.”},{

“What everything?”

Julian did not answer. Children’s laughter could be heard from far away, while electronic candles flickered on the stage.

His fingers opened the folder’s clasp. Inside were several sheets, a small memory card, and an old photograph, the sight of which immediately stopped my breathing. Julian moved his hand toward the first sheet and said:

“Before you see this, there is one thing you must know…”

“Before you see this, there is one thing you must know,” Julian repeated. “Grant said that you were not alone that night.”

His fingers stopped on the sheet. The wind had ceased, but everything inside me was moving.

“With whom was I?”

“He did not write the name. He only said that you knew who had signed.”

“Grant spoke like this twelve years ago too. He told half-truths so that they would resemble a complete lie.”

Theo moved the cup from one hand to the other. Chocolate foam fell onto his green scarf.

“Uncle, if this is bad news, let’s go home.”

Julian nodded, but his eyes remained on me.

“Mara, you have to come to the lawyer tomorrow. Even if these documents are not genuine, we still need to know what Grant has.”

“I will not come to prove my innocence to you.”

“Then why will you come?”

“To find out why you accused me of what you yourself did.”

His face changed.

“I did not sell you.”

“You disappeared.”

“Because I thought you had sold me.”

“And you never once asked me?”

“I called you.”

“How many times?”

Julian fell silent.

“Grant told me you had changed your number,” he said at last.

“I did not change my number. I waited for your call every evening.”

I had kept these words locked in my heart for a long time. As I said them, I felt as if I had opened from the inside a door from twelve years ago and let cold air in from there.

We moved from the festival grounds into a small administrative building. It was six in the evening. Steam stood on the windows, while the old heating pipe knocked in the wall every few seconds. A silver pair of scissors with a Christmas ribbon tied to it lay on the table.

Julian opened the folder.

On the first page stood the signature: Mara Renee Ellison.

“Do you see?” he said to me. “Grant sent this to me. I did not notice the middle name then.”

“Because you wanted to believe it.”

“No. Because that night I was reading your letter.”

He took a folded sheet from his pocket. The paper had been folded so many times that a white crack had formed in the middle.

“You sent this to me,” he said.

The paper said: “Julian, do not contact me anymore. I have finished the agreement with Grant. The song is my business now.”

I read the words, and suddenly the room became very small.

“I did not write this letter.”

“Mara…”

“These are not my letters. Look at the ‘g.’ I always make the lower loop. Here it is closed.”

Julian raised the paper toward the window. Light scattered through the paper.

“Then who wrote it?”

“I do not know. But I know that Grant took my laptop back then. He said he needed copies for the publisher.”

At that moment the door opened and Theo’s grandmother, Elinor, came in. She held a brown wool bag, and her face had the caution of a person who already knew part of the conversation.

“Julian, did Grant call you again?”

“You know about this too?”

Elinor looked toward me and stopped.

“Mara Ellison.”

“You know me?”

Her fingers gripped the handle of the bag more tightly.

“I could never forget your face. You were in the studio that night when Grant sent Julian away from home.”

Julian rose from the chair.

“Mother, what are you saying?”

“I went then in Grant’s car. I stood on the stairs. Mara was crying, and Grant was telling her that Julian had already left.”

The sound of blood rang in my ears.

“You knew that Julian was not there?”

Elinor lowered her eyes.

“I knew that something wrong was happening. But Grant said that you would destroy both your careers if you told anyone.”

Julian went to the wall. His shoulder touched the heating pipe, and the metal rang loudly.

“Why did you not tell me until now?”

“Because I was afraid. Then years passed, and fear took the form of shame.”

Elinor opened the bag and took out a small plastic box.

“I found this in the old house this morning,” she said. “Grant’s name is on it. I have never opened it.”

There was a memory card in the box, the same size as the one in the folder.

Julian looked toward me.

“If this is the recording I think it is, Grant was hiding more than just our song.”

“What do you mean?”

He placed the memory card in his palm. At that moment an unknown number lit up on his phone. Julian answered.

He listened for several seconds.

Then he lost his color.

“Who are you?” he asked.

I could not hear the answer, but Julian gripped the phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“Do not open that card,” said the unknown voice. “If you open it, everyone will know the truth about Mara Ellison’s child…”

The call ended.

The call ended.

Only the knocking of the heating pipe remained in the room. I put my hand on my stomach and waited for the baby’s movement. It seemed to understand that I was afraid and slowly touched me from inside.

“Who knew about my pregnancy?” I asked.

Julian put the phone on the table.

“I saw it only today.”

Elinor immediately said:

“Grant could have found out. He still has acquaintances in clinics and on the festival board.”

“We have to open the card,” I said.

“The threat may be true,” Julian told me.

“That is exactly why.”

It was seven o’clock when we moved into the festival organizer’s small office. An old computer stood there, and the children’s choir’s names flickered on the screen. Elinor locked the door. Julian inserted the memory card.

At first only a black window appeared on the screen. Then came the rough sound of a piano, the creaking of the studio floor, and the laughter of my younger self.

I gripped the chair with both hands.

The recording was from twelve years ago.

“Play it from beginning to end, Julian,” my voice could be heard saying.

“If we managed it on the first try, then later we cannot blame bad equipment.”

We both laughed.

Then the door opened.

Young Grant’s voice sounded clearly:

“Mara, wait outside. I need to talk to Julian.”

“Why?”

“Because you are not signing the contract and he is. This is already a problem.”

The sound of a chair being moved was heard in the recording.

“We wrote the song together,” Julian said.

“And you cannot sell it alone,” Grant answered. “Either you both sign, or Julian’s name disappears too.”

“Mara will not agree to this.”

“Then you must persuade her.”

Cold ran down my back. Julian stood motionless, as if he were hearing his own voice for the first time.

The recording continued. Grant said that the publisher would choose only one author. Then came the rustling of papers and my quick footsteps.

“Julian, come on,” I was saying in the recording. “Grant is lying to us.”

“Mara, wait.”

“No. Now.”

The door slammed. Silence fell for several seconds.

Then Grant’s voice changed.

“If you both leave, I will edit this recording so that it looks as if your partner did everything behind your back.”

“People will learn the truth.”

“People do not care about the truth. People want a story.”

Julian covered his mouth with his hand.

The recording carried the voice of his younger self:

“She did nothing wrong.”

“You will sign this if you want to have a career.”

After that came a blow, as if someone had dropped something on the table.

The second file started by itself. It contained a bank conversation, and then Grant’s voice: “We opened the account in the name of Mara Renee Ellison. The signature looks similar enough.”

Elinor covered her mouth with her hand.

“My God.”

Julian looked toward me.

“Mara, I did not believe you.”

“Do you believe me now?”

“Everything.”

He came toward me, but I raised my hand.

“Not yet. Listen to it all first.”

In the last file Grant was speaking to someone. The conversation was from several months earlier.

“Has the pregnancy been confirmed?” he asked.

An unknown woman answered:

“Yes. She has not mentioned the question of paternity yet.”

“If Mercer begins resisting over the song rights, the child will be sufficient leverage for him.”

Julian leaned against the wall.

“Is the child mine?” he asked quietly.

The air disappeared from the room.

“I do not know,” I said. “I never said anything about this child’s paternity because I did not know whether, Julian, you still wanted to return to my life.”

“Why did you not tell me earlier?”

“Because I saw that old accusation again in your eyes.”

At that same moment a message arrived on my phone. The screen said: “Tomorrow morning we will file a petition in court for temporary custody of the child.”

The sender was Grant’s lawyer.

Julian read the message and his face tightened.

“Grant is using the child even before it has been born.”

Elinor struck the table with her hand.

“Then we must get ahead of him.”

At that exact moment someone knocked from outside the door.

“Who is it?” Julian asked.

In answer, Grant’s voice sounded:

“Mara, put the folder and the card on the table. You do not know whom you are fighting…”

Julian looked toward me, but I was already seeing the shadow entering from beneath the door. Grant had not come alone…