Part 4 — I only asked to see my grandchildren, but after one decision of mine, Rachel’s smile disappeared from her face forever

Mark’s signed application was found at the bank.

He wanted to take twenty-eight thousand from my fund and pay off his debt.

As soon as Levan told me this, I could not say a word for several minutes. I was still holding the copper key with the sunflower-shaped head in my hand.

“This document will be handed over to the police,” Levan said.

“Will Rachel be punished too?”

“Her signature is not on the document.”

“Then do not accuse her of what she did not do either.”

Levan nodded.

“You are still trying to protect her.”

“She is my daughter.”

“And you are her mother. That does not mean you must pay for all her consequences as well.”

That same evening Rachel called me eleven times.

I did not answer the first call.

Nor the second.

On the third she left a voice message.

“Mom, please call me. Mark did something stupid, but I did not know. Everything cannot fall apart for us now.”

In the fourth message she was already crying.

“You are not going to condemn us, are you?”

I sat on the bed and watched the lights in the yard through the window. Earlier, at times like this, I would have run to Rachel. I would stand at her door, bring her food, and apologize even when I had done nothing wrong.

But now I put the phone on the table.

In the morning two police officers and a social-services representative came. The meeting took place in the small conference room of my residence.

Mark stood there as well. His eyes were reddened, but his voice was still confident.

“My mother cannot manage money,” he said. “These people are influencing her.”

“Which people?” the investigator asked.

“That woman, Helen, and the lawyer.”

Helen sat in the corner of the room. In her hand she held a teacup with a small crack on its edge.

“I do not touch Marina’s money,” she said. “I only talk with her.”

Mark looked at me.

“Mom, tell them that you are confused.”

“I am not.”

“Tell them that you are afraid of being left alone.”

“I was afraid. I am not anymore.”

The investigator placed a document on the table.

“Is this your signature, Mr. Mark?”

Mark looked at the paper.

“It was a preliminary application.”

“It says here that the money was to be used to pay off your loan.”

“Marina gave me permission.”

“No,” I said. “I did not give permission.”

“You told me that you would do anything for the family.”

At these words the room fell silent.

The investigator turned on the voice recorder.

Mark’s own voice sounded:

“If Mom sells the house, we still have to take money from the fund. The children are her weak spot. It is enough to tell her that their future is in danger.”

Mark turned pale.

Rachel covered her face with her hands.

My voice was heard next in the recording:

“No one will touch the children’s money.”

Mark struck the chair with his hand.

“This was taken out of context!”

“Which part?” the investigator asked. “The part where you planned to use the children?”

Mark had no answer.

I looked at him, and something strange happened. For the first time I saw not the man who was my daughter’s husband, but a person who had built with his own words the wall he could no longer cross.

“Mark,” I told him, “I am not trying to punish you.”

“Then withdraw the complaint.”

“I cannot withdraw it.”

“Why?”

“Because this time I can no longer pay for your consequences.”

It was the calmest sentence I had ever said to him.

The police took Mark away for questioning. Later I learned that he was charged with attempted fraud. Rachel was not charged, but she also realized that she could no longer protect Mark.

That evening Rachel came to my room.

My room was small, but there were two armchairs by the window. A painting of a field, given to me by Helen, hung on the wall.

Rachel stood in the doorway for a long time.

“May I come in?”

“Come in.”

She sat in an armchair. She placed her hands on her knees.

“I heard the recording.”

“I know.”

“It sounded terrible.”

“Yes.”

“I could not believe he was saying that.”

“But he said it.”

Rachel lowered her head.

“I also said terrible things.”

“I remember.”

“When I told you to have a life of your own…”

“That day I understood for the first time that you made room for me in your life only when it was convenient for you.”

Her eyes lit up with tears.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“Forgiveness is possible. Trust has to be built again.”

“How?”

“First, come to see me and not to see my house. That is already a beginning.”

Rachel took a small object from her bag. It was an old frame containing a photograph of David and me.

“This was left in the house,” she said. “The new owner sent it to me.”

Behind the photograph was the same small scratch from the copper key. I had probably made it myself years ago when I turned it in the lock.

“Keep it,” I told her.

“No. It belongs to you.”

“It is no longer a house key.”

“I know.”

“It is only a reminder that a door can be locked and you can still survive.”

Rachel cried. This time I did not go to comfort her. I simply sat beside her and allowed her to carry her own tears herself.

Several weeks later Mark received temporary release from the court, but Rachel began living separately from him. She found a job at a small children’s library and brought Nika and Elene to me once a week.

At the first meeting Nika drew a house on a sheet of paper.

“This is the old house,” he explained to me. “I lived here.”

Then he drew another house beside it. A large yellow sun stood in front of it.

“And this is your new house, Grandma.”

“Why is there no fence here?” I asked.

“Because everyone can come in here if they are a good person.”

At these words something stuck in my throat.

According to David’s letter, we opened a small meeting room in the residence. We gathered there every Wednesday. Some women were waiting for their children. Some had lost their husbands. Some were simply alone and found it difficult to admit it.

I made tea for them, Helen handed out cards, and a former teacher, Mrs. Lamara, gave the children reading lessons.

We named the room “Sunflower.”

The first time I wrote this name, I was holding the copper key in my hand.

Three months later the first snow came to the city. I went out into the yard in the morning. Snow slowly descended onto the trees and benches. I had Nika’s drawing attached to the refrigerator, and beside it the schedule for my new work was waiting.

That day I received a message from Mark on my phone.

“I understand everything. I made a mistake. Come, let us start again. You are still family.”

There was a second message below it.

“If you give up the fund, I will also help Rachel so that everything can be settled.”

I looked at the screen for a long time.

Then I wrote a reply:

“I will no longer be part of a bargain. You will see the children only when you respect their safety. And returning to my life is possible only without guilt.”

I deleted his number.

That same evening I met Rachel. She said nothing to me about Mark. She only gave me Nika’s new drawing.

In the drawing four people stood beneath a large yellow sun. One of them held a small sunflower-shaped key in his hand.

“That is you,” Nika told me.

“Why?”

“Because you opened the door.”

That night I placed the key on the windowsill. For the first time I no longer wanted to return it to the old house.

Outside, snow was falling quietly.

David was gone, the house was gone, the old life was gone.

But I was here.

And this time I was opening my own door.