My Daughter Brought Her Fiancé Home, but After One Sentence from Him, the Man Who Went Out into the Garden Turned Pale

That evening, when my daughter brought her fiancé home, as soon as he left, the man put down his fork and told me that now it was my turn.

Since childhood, Marisa had had a dark wine-colored mark on the left side of her face. I had always seen her as beautiful, but at school children wrapped cruelty in jokes. Once Marisa came home with her hat pulled down to her eyes and did not look in the mirror for three hours.

Her father, Adrian, disappeared when Marisa was five. He left and left behind only one leather folder and uncovered debts. No letter, no call. Nothing.

Marisa never spoke about boyfriends. Therefore, when she called me one March morning and said in a hurried voice, “Mother, I want you to meet my fiancé,” the phone almost fell from my hand.

I prepared all day. Lemon chicken was browning in the oven, the smell of cinnamon floated through the kitchen, and every five minutes I took a small ivory-colored sewing cushion from my apron pocket and put it back. I had cut this cushion from Marisa’s childhood dress; her initials were embroidered on it.

In the evening the door opened.

Graham came in together with Marisa.

He was tall, polite, and unusually calm. He pulled out Marisa’s chair, poured her water, put his phone aside, and listened to her as though only her voice existed in the room. When Marisa smiled, Graham smiled too.

I became excessively happy.

“Mother, don’t look at me like that,” Marisa chuckled.

“I’m just glad that someone finally saw what you are like.”

Graham put his hand on hers.

“I saw her from the very beginning.”

Those words fell into my heart.

At eight o’clock Marisa stood up.

“I’ll bring the dessert plates. I’ll be right back.”

When her footsteps quieted beyond the door, all warmth disappeared from Graham’s face. He slowly put his fork on the plate. The metallic clink cut through the room.

“I have fulfilled my part,” he said. “Now it is your turn.”

I looked into his eyes and for the first time no longer recognized him.

“What agreement are you talking about?”

Graham gave a silent chuckle.

“Please, do not take me for a fool. You know why I came.”

“You came for Marisa.”

“Not only for her.”

He pushed the chair back and stood up.

“Come with me.”

“I am not going anywhere until you explain.”

“If we speak loudly here, your daughter will hear everything.”

At that moment a light sound of dishes came from the hallway. My blood froze.

Graham opened the back door of the kitchen. Cold air rushed in and the napkin lying on the table fell to the floor. He pointed toward the garden.

“There is a man there whom you have been hiding for twenty-two years.”

“I am hiding no one.”

“Then why have you not told Marisa that Adrian is alive?”

Only the sound of the wind remained in my ears.

At the far end of the garden, under the old walnut tree, someone stood. The weak lamplight did not illuminate his face, but I recognized him by his shoulders. He wore the same dark hat that Adrian had worn on the day he left.

“My God…” I gasped.

Graham grabbed me by the wrist.

“Now you must decide, Mother. Either you open that door, or he will come in himself.”

The man took one step into the garden and pulled a folded paper from his pocket. I reached my hand toward him, but just then Marisa’s voice sounded behind me…

“Mother, what is happening?”

Marisa stood on the threshold. She held dessert plates in her hands, and small cream roses trembled on them.

Graham immediately let go of my hand.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Then why are you in the garden?”

I looked toward Adrian. Under the walnut tree no one was standing anymore.

Only the wet grass was swaying.

“It was the wind,” I said, and immediately realized what a feeble lie had come out.

Marisa looked first at me, then at Graham.

“Was Father here?”

Her voice changed as though suddenly all the doors in the room had closed.

Graham lowered his eyes.

“Marisa, you had better sit down.”

“Answer me.”

I stepped in front.

“He should not have come.”

“But he came.”

“How do you know?”

Marisa put the plates on the table. One of the plates cracked at the edge.

Graham took a deep breath.

“Because I found him.”

Silence passed between the three of us.

“You found my father?” Marisa smiled, but the smile resembled pain. “When were you planning to tell me?”

“When your mother was ready.”

“Not my mother—you decided when I should learn about my own life?”

I looked at Graham.

“Tell me what agreement you were talking about.”

Marisa turned her head toward me.

“What agreement?”

Graham went to the chair, took a dark green folder from his jacket, and placed it on the table. Drops of water lay on the corners of the folder.

“I was not honest with Marisa from the beginning,” he said. “She hired me.”

“She hired you?” I barely said.

Marisa lowered her eyes.

“Two months ago I discovered his name. My father’s name. He sent me a letter.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you would hide him.”

These words hurt me more than Adrian’s return itself.

Graham opened the folder, but covered the papers inside with his hand.

“Adrian needs money. A lot of money. He told Marisa that if you handed over the house and the old family account, he would confess everything and disappear forever.”

“That is impossible,” I said. “There is no money left in that account.”

“That is what you think.”

Marisa looked at him quickly.

“Graham, enough. The agreement was not like that.”

“It was exactly like that,” he replied. “I was supposed to become your fiancé, gain your mother’s trust, and obtain her signature. And you were supposed to play the happy daughter until she transferred the rights to the property.”

Something collapsed inside my chest.

Marisa sank into the chair.

“At first it was only a way to find him,” she said quietly. “Then everything changed.”

“Not for me,” Graham replied.

His harshness returned.

“You said your mother would sign if she believed you were happy. I fulfilled my part.”

“And your other part?” Marisa stood up. “Marrying me and dividing the money?”

Graham lost his composure for the first time.

“Do not force me to say everything now.”

Outside, a car door slammed.

I rushed to the kitchen window. Adrian was no longer under the walnut tree, but a black car had stopped at the gate. Its headlights poured into the house.

Marisa looked at Graham.

“You told me he was alone.”

Graham closed the folder.

“He was supposed to be alone.”

Two men got out of the car. One held a leather bag, and the other held a phone.

Graham leaned toward me.

“Now you must understand why Adrian is afraid of your house, and not the other way around.”

“Where is he?”

This time Marisa answered.

“In my bedroom.”

Indeed, heavy breathing sounded behind the door.

Marisa took hold of the handle.

“Father, come out.”

The door opened slowly. Adrian stepped forward, his face pale, and in his hand he held a small recorder.

“Before you sign,” he said, “you must first hear what your mother said to me on the night she left you…”

Adrian placed the recorder on the table. The little device’s red light blinked as if it were a living heart.

Marisa froze in the doorway.

“Mother, what kind of night is this?”

I could not breathe. Graham lunged toward Adrian, but the two men standing in the doorway blocked his way.

“One more step and I will call the police,” one of them said.

Graham smiled coldly.

“You do not understand whom you are protecting.”

“We know exactly whom we are protecting from,” the other replied.

Adrian pressed the recorder’s button.

At first only the noise of an old room could be heard. Then my voice.

“Adrian, if you leave now, you will never see Marisa again.”

Marisa turned toward me.

“That is you.”

“Yes.”

Adrian’s young voice sounded on the recording.

“You cannot take my child away from me.”

“You are leaving her yourself. You steal money, leave us debts, and now you want me to be the victim?”

Then the sound of things breaking was heard. Marisa covered her mouth with her hand.

The recording continued.

“If you leave, I will tell Marisa that you were ashamed because of her face.”

I felt my hands freeze.

“I did not say that,” I whispered. “I never said it.”

“But your voice is on the recording,” Graham said.

Adrian raised his head.

“The voice is yours, Elena. The words are cut up and pasted over one another. This recording was found in Adrian’s old office. The complete file disappeared after he emptied your account.”

Graham looked toward me.

“That is exactly why I came. Adrian commissioned me to do it. He wanted me to obtain the signature and then blame Marisa, as though the two of you had made a deal to rob him.”

Marisa stepped back.

“Were you going to marry me only for the money?”

Graham lowered his voice.

“At first, yes.”

“And now?”

He could not answer.

I took the folder and pulled out the first sheet. It said it was a contract transferring my house. At the bottom, the place for my signature was empty.

“Graham, did you do all this because Adrian paid you?”

“He put my brother in prison,” Graham said. “Not with money, but with lies. I wanted to destroy him.”

Adrian gave a bitter chuckle.

“Do not invent some great love, boy. You came for money too.”

At that moment Marisa’s phone rang. An unknown number appeared on the screen. She answered.

She listened for several seconds.

Then the color drained from her face.

“Who was it?” I asked.

Marisa slowly lowered the phone.

“The hospital.”

Adrian tensed.

“What did they want?”

Marisa looked at him.

“They said money had to be transferred in your name for an urgent operation. And if it was not transferred tonight, in the morning they would report to the police that you had presented the clinic with forged documents.”

Adrian looked at Graham.

“You told me this part was settled.”

Graham lowered his eyes.

At that moment a strong banging sounded at the door.

A woman’s voice called from outside:

“Mr. Adrian, we know you are here. And this time we have not come alone.”

Adrian grabbed the chair.

I approached Marisa, but she was still looking at the recording in which my voice was destroying her entire childhood.

Outside they called once more, now clearly:

“Police. Open the door.”

Adrian took a second document from his pocket and handed it to Graham.

“If they see this, we will all lose.”

Graham looked at the paper, then looked at me.

“Elena, you have no idea who owns the account they are demanding you hand over…”