Part 4 — My Mother Declared My Military Life a Lie in Court, but Her Smile Disappeared When the Door Opened

The sentence remaining on Hayes’s phone screen seemed to freeze the entire courtroom.

“If Mara remains alive today, the second target will be her child.”

I read the words again and again.

“I have no child,” I said at last.

Niko took a medical folder from the bag. The corner of the folder was worn, and my initials were written on it.

“Mara, these records are from a military hospital.”

“I know.”

“No, you do not know completely.”

He unfolded the last page. It said that after the explosion, when I was brought to the hospital, I had been pregnant. The fetus survived. The birth was carried out within the framework of a secret program, because my identity and the details of the operation had to be protected.

I gripped the chair.

“That is impossible. If I had had a child, I would have known.”

Hayes lowered his eyes.

“The child was placed in temporary guardianship immediately after birth. You were in rehabilitation for four months then, and they told you that the pregnancy had not survived.”

“Who knew?”

“Your father. Me. Victoria too.”

My mother’s lips began to tremble.

“I only knew that the child was safe.”

“Where is she?” My voice was barely audible.

Niko took a small card from the folder.

“Her name is Leah. She is nine years old. She lives in the northern part of the city, with a child-protection foster family.”

I looked at Victoria.

“You knew that my child was alive?”

“Your father was afraid that her existence would lead the enemy to you.”

“And now Caleb knows?”

My mother looked at Caleb.

Caleb stood silently, but sudden fear appeared in his eyes. Then he took a phone from his pocket.

“I am not threatening anyone,” he said.

“Then why were they trying to erase the servers?” the prosecutor asked.

Caleb could not answer.

The security guards came up beside him. He stepped backward.

“Mara, listen to me. I did everything for the company. Father did not want to hand his work over to strangers.”

“You declared my life a lie.”

“Because I had no other way.”

“You always have a way. It is simply sometimes more expensive than you are ready to pay.”

That same evening Caleb and Robert Vale were arrested on charges of document forgery and illegal transfers of money. Victoria slowly left the courtroom. They did not put handcuffs on her, but such emptiness was written on her face, as if no one were waiting for her in her own home.

The next morning the company board revoked all of Caleb’s rights. The banks froze the false accounts. Part of the money was returned, and the investigation searched for the rest.

My lawyer placed an audio recording of the case in the office.

“You need to hear this,” he told me.

In the recording, Caleb’s voice could be heard, in the basement, that night.

“If the court believes Mara is a liar, no one will be able to demand her signature anymore. Mother will say that she never had a military career. People love the fall of heroes.”

I could not hear my own words, but Caleb’s words were enough. For the first time, he heard his own voice through someone else’s ears.

He stood by the window. The recording ended, and only the ticking of the clock remained in the room.

“Did I say this?” he asked.

“You did,” Niko replied.

Caleb hid his face in his hands.

Several minutes later, the court clerk showed me the empty room where Father’s things were kept. Only one thing remained on the table—a photograph of him in which I was fifteen years old and holding a small copper compass.

On the back of the photograph Father had written one sentence: “If you ever lose your direction, become north yourself.”

Three weeks later I met Leah for the first time.

It was raining in the orphanage yard. She was wearing a yellow raincoat and holding a jar full of pencils.

“Are you Mara?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“My mother?”

My breath caught before I could answer.

“If you want, I will try to be.”

She looked me over for a long time.

“Were you in the war?”

“I was.”

“Then why are you afraid?”

My eyes filled with tears.

“Because the hardest battle begins at home.”

Leah extended her hand to me.

“Can you come tomorrow too?”

“I will come tomorrow too.”

And I came.

The next day too.

Two months later I began working at a small city school. I taught children how to help in crisis situations. In the mornings I walked to work, because I breathed more easily while walking. In the evenings I read books to Leah, and she gave me drawings.

In one drawing she made a house whose roof had a crooked arrow on it.

“What does this mean?” I asked.

“That the way home must always be visible.”

Victoria did not go to prison. She confessed to the crime, returned the money, and testified in court. After that she went of her own will to a small town where no one knew her name.

Once she sent me a letter.

“Mara, I know that I cannot ask you for forgiveness. I only want you to know that on the day I took the child away from you, I thought I was protecting you this way. And then I obeyed my own fear.”

I read the letter to the end and put it in a drawer. I did not answer.

But Caleb called me six months later. His voice had changed.

“The company is still yours,” he said. “I can help you restore it.”

“I no longer need your help.”

“Mara, we are family.”

Through the window I saw Leah. The first snow was falling in the yard, and she was catching it with her arms spread wide.

“Family is the person who does not change the truth even when they want something from you,” I told him.

“Forgive me at least once.”

“Forgiveness may mean that I no longer hate you. But returning is something else.”

I hung up.

That evening Leah opened my old military box. Inside lay the medals, the burned insignia of the unit, and the small copper compass.

“It is broken,” she said.

“It still shows the right direction.”

“How?”

I placed the compass on my hand. Its needle trembled for several seconds, then stopped toward the north.

Leah rested her head on my shoulder.

Outside, snow was quietly falling on the city. For the first time in many years, my body was no longer waiting for the continuation of the battle.

I held the compass in my hand.

And this time, I knew the direction.