Part 4 — I sang every night at her mother’s bedside, but when the girl appeared at the hospital, her first words froze me

And I understood that Victor was no longer trying only to take away money. Now he was targeting my family.

Ellen immediately locked the door.

“Where are the children?” she asked me.

“At home. They should be with the neighbor.”

I picked up the phone. The call did not go through. I called a second time. A third.

On the fourth call, Mrs. Mercy, our neighbor, answered.

“Richard, everything is fine. Olivia and Oliver are with me. Why are you calling like this?”

The strength left my knees.

“Don’t open the door to anyone. I am sending the police.”

“A man already came here and said he was from the school.”

My breath caught.

“Name?”

“I don’t remember. But I did not let him in.”

Lily immediately called the head of security. The police officers led Victor out of the room, although he was still trying to regain control.

“You do not understand what you are doing!” he shouted in the corridor. “This hospital will collapse without her!”

Simone answered weakly but clearly from the bed:

“No, Victor. It will survive without you.”

Victor stopped.

For the first time I saw on his face a person to whom his own words were returning. For seven weeks he had told everyone that Simone would not wake up, would not understand, would not be able to defend herself. Now the woman in the bed was sitting up and looking directly at his lie.

“I worked for you,” he said.

“You worked on me,” Simone answered.

Victor lowered his head. The rings of the handcuffs collided with one another.

That night Boston police charged him with fraud, forgery of documents, and sending a threatening message. Daniel Moore gave testimony because he realized Victor would use his name too. Security checked the hospital servers and discovered that the letter dismissing me from my job had been prepared in advance.

The lawyer who was supposed to defend Victor would refuse him the next morning.

“I cannot continue,” he told him before the court. “My client was hiding materials from me too.”

Victor turned his face away.

“You told me that all of this was finished.”

The lawyer calmly answered:

“You yourself told me that she would never wake up.”

Victor fell silent.

It was the moment when he heard his own voice through someone else for the first time.

In the following weeks Simone began physical therapy. Walking was difficult at first. After one step her hands trembled, but every morning she still stood up.

Sofia was beside her.

One evening, in the hospital’s small rehabilitation room, she asked her mother a question.

“Why didn’t you come to me when I left home?”

Simone thought for a long time.

“Because I thought returning to your life would hurt you again.”

“And I thought you had rejected me.”

“I know.”

“You could simply have called.”

Simone lowered her head.

“I could have.”

That word was heavier than any excuse. I stood at the door and did not listen to their conversation, although I could see both of them. Sometimes forgiveness does not come with a brilliant word. Sometimes it is only one simple admission: I could have acted better.

The most difficult morning in my life still turned out to be returning home.

In the apartment kitchen, Olivia’s drawing was no longer hanging. The neighbor had carefully taken it down so it would not be damaged. On the windowsill were the paper stars I had taken to the hospital. One of them had a bent edge.

Oliver came over to me.

“Dad, did they catch the bad man?”

“They did.”

“Can’t he come to us anymore?”

“No.”

“Will you sing with that woman again?”

I smiled at his question.

“If she wants me to.”

Olivia nodded and held out the blue pencil to me.

“Then take this. The stars are missing there.”

Two months later Simone left the hospital. She turned her own office into a small reading room for employees who needed to rest during the night shift. She did not hang expensive paintings on the wall. She left only Olivia’s drawing.

Sofia stayed in Boston and began thinking about returning to university together with her mother. They had dinner once a week. At first conversation was awkward. Then, little by little, it became ordinary.

I continued working in the cleaning service, although I was transferred from the night shift to the day shift. Simone offered me a promotion, but I agreed only if it was real work, not help.

“You do not need charity,” she told me.

“You do not need a savior either,” I answered.

“Then we both started correctly.”

At the beginning of spring, the court announced Victor’s sentence. He was sentenced to imprisonment, a financial penalty, and repayment of the money to the victims. Daniel Moore made a deal and agreed to testify. The hospital board became independent.

I was not happy in court.

The truth simply took its place.

Several months later I received a letter from Victor. My name was handwritten on the envelope. Inside were only several sentences.

“You thought you could save people. I simply wanted to answer you at least once. Let’s meet.”

The letter lay on the table for a long time.

Then I showed it to Simone.

“What will you do?” she asked me.

“Nothing.”

“You won’t answer?”

“No.”

“Why?”

I looked at the street through the window. Children were breaking up the last piles of snow with their feet.

“Because carrying the consequences of his actions is no longer my job.”

Simone nodded.

“That is the most difficult freedom.”

In May, a small exhibition was organized at Olivia’s school. Her drawing still showed a tall man, a sleeping woman, and stars, but this time the woman’s eyes were open. Below it was written: “When someone stays, darkness cannot win completely.”

“Is this about Simone?” I asked.

“About both of you,” Olivia answered. “You stayed, and she returned.”

After returning home in the evening, I hung the paper stars by the window. I put Olivia’s blue pencil beside them. The pencil was no longer new, its point almost completely worn down, but it still retained its dark blue color.

A message from Simone arrived on my phone.

“Will you sing again tomorrow?”

I wrote back:

“If you listen too.”

The answer returned immediately.

“Now I will listen to every word.”

I went to the window. Streetlights reflected on the wet asphalt like stars. The sleepy breathing of the children could be heard in the room. The refrigerator was humming again, but this time the silence was no longer empty.

I left the blue pencil on the windowsill.

And for the first time in many years, I did not begin singing for loneliness anymore.