Part 4 — When My Husband’s Family Broke My Leg and My Husband Mocked Me, Derek’s Smile Vanished at the Sight of the Lawyer

…the message arrived on Derek’s phone, but the police officer covered it before seeing the screen.

“Do not touch it,” he said. “We must document it first.”

Derek tried to rise from the armchair.

“This is my personal phone.”

“From this moment it is evidence.”

The police officer photographed the screen. The message said: “If Abigail does not come to the old station, a complete copy of the recording will be sent to every bank and the police tomorrow.”

Derek lost color.

Miriani looked toward him.

“How many people did you threaten, Derek?”

“I did not threaten anyone.”

“Then why does someone know that the recording exists?”

Derek fell silent.

That same evening the investigators finished searching the house. From the kitchen cabinet they found my identity card, bank cards, and several papers onto which my signature had been transferred. In the back room they found an old computer from which Derek had been entering my email.

Helen called a lawyer several times, but the first lawyer refused the case.

“Mrs. Hale,” he told her by phone, “I cannot defend a person who hid evidence and deliberately misled the police.”

“You are my lawyer!” Derek shouted.

“I am not anymore.”

The call ended.

The next day in court, the remaining defense lawyer also tried to gain time. He said that Derek was possessed by an emotional state and that the recording did not show the full picture.

The judge asked directly:

“Where is your full picture?”

The lawyer could not answer.

Miriani showed the video on the screen first, then the bank statements, and finally the audio extracted from the camera. Derek’s own voice sounded in the courtroom.

“Tomorrow we’ll say that she fell down the stairs.”

This time it was not only I who heard those words; everyone sitting in the courtroom heard them. Derek buried his head in his hands. Helen tapped her fingers on the chair. My father-in-law, who until then had denied everything, began to cry quietly.

I looked at Derek.

“Do you hear?” I asked. “That is your voice.”

He raised his head.

“Abigail, I did not want it to end like this.”

“But you arranged everything exactly like this.”

“I only wanted you to stay at home.”

“No. You wanted me to be locked inside the house.”

The court issued Derek a restraining order, an investigation connected with financial crimes, and charges of violence. Helen was separately charged with assault and attempting to conceal evidence.

I was not happy about their arrest.

As I left the courthouse, I felt only tiredness. Such tiredness as if for years a heavy door had lain on my shoulders and someone had finally opened it slightly.

The author of the anonymous letter was found several days later. She turned out to be Nora, a former accountant of Derek’s company. She discovered the false loans and, after Derek demanded her dismissal, informed me about the camera’s existence.

Nora came to visit me in the hospital. She was holding a small fabric bag.

“I’m sorry I could not find the courage earlier,” she told me.

“If you had not called, perhaps I would not have found the courage either.”

“He frightened everyone.”

“But now he can no longer control anyone.”

Several weeks later, when my cast was removed, I found our house empty. Derek’s clothes had been taken. In his room, only one photograph remained lying by the foot of the bed: our wedding day, where I was laughing while he was looking toward the camera, as if even then he knew that he kept another face for everyone.

The wooden rolling pin was no longer in the kitchen. In its place, a small flour-colored trace remained on the floor.

I stood there for a long time.

Then I cleaned the floor.

I sold the apartment and rented a small house on the other side of the city. The walls were still empty. In the morning I could hear the tram from the window, and in the kitchen there was only one glass.

Six weeks later I started working again. I worked from home three days a week, and on the remaining days I went to Miriani’s office and helped people who were deceived with documents and finances.

One evening Nora brought me her little daughter, Lea. The girl sat at the table and drew a house on a sheet of paper. There was a small black dot by the door of the house.

“What is that?” I asked.

“A bell,” she answered. “So that if someone becomes afraid, they can get help.”

I smiled at her.

“That is a good idea.”

“You are not afraid anymore?”

The first snow was falling outside the window. Several snowflakes stuck to the glass and immediately melted.

“Sometimes I am still afraid,” I told her truthfully. “But now I know whom to call.”

Three months later I received a letter from Derek. It had not been sent from prison; it came through his lawyer.

“I want you to listen to me just once. We can return everything. The house, the money, our life. My mother will not interfere anymore either. I have changed.”

Below it was written one sentence: “You are still my wife.”

I let Miriani read the letter.

“Do you want an answer?” he asked me.

“Yes.”

On a blank sheet of paper I wrote only a few words:

“I am no longer your house, your money, or your decision. Do not contact me again.”

Miriani put the letter into an envelope.

“Are you sure?”

“For the first time, I am.”

That night, in the new house, I organized a drawer. My father’s small copper whistle was still inside. Its surface had darkened with the years, but a thin bright line could still be seen along the edge.

I picked it up and went to the window.

Then I understood why I had carried it with me all this time. Father thought that this whistle would protect me in danger. In reality, it only gave my voice back to me.

I put the whistle on the table.

Now I no longer needed it for an alarm.

It was simply mine.

And for the first time, silence no longer frightened me.