Part 4 — On My Daughter’s Birthday Not a Single Guest Came, Then I Made One Call to Paola and Mother’s Face Changed

Paola’s husband, Lasha, was standing at the school door.

I learned this only when we rushed out of Irakli’s office.

The rain struck the asphalt as if someone wanted to warn the city. Rodrigo was sitting at the wheel, Irakli beside me, and I was pressing Valentina’s crown to my chest.

“Is she at school?” I asked.

“The principal said they have the child in the classroom,” Irakli answered. “Lasha has a statement signed by Paola in his hand.”

“He has no right.”

“The main thing now is that you do not go there alone and do not shout.”

“They wanted to take my daughter.”

“That is why you must act correctly.”

We arrived at the school at ten minutes past four.

Lasha paced in front of the principal’s office. He held folded papers in his hand, and black drops from the wet umbrella ran down his fingers.

“Cecilia, Paola told me that the situation at Valentina’s home was dangerous,” he told me.

“Paola told you many things. Including that messages had been sent in my name?”

Lasha’s eyes widened.

“What messages?”

Irakli opened the folder.

“The ones that are now going to be handed over to the police.”

Lasha stepped back.

“I had no part in this.”

“Then sign that you refuse to take Valentina,” I told him.

He looked down at the papers and stood silently for a long time.

“Paola told me that you could not pay the debt and that you neglected the child.”

“My daughter was at school at the same time Paola took my phone.”

The principal invited us into the office. A small camera stood on the table, its red light blinking calmly.

“We recorded everything,” she said. “Until the matter is clarified, only the mother or father will take the child.”

Valentina entered and ran toward me.

She no longer had her crown. In her hand she held a small sun made of paper.

“Mom, why did Lasha come?” she asked.

I knelt down.

“He made a mistake. We are going home now.”

“No one will take us away from each other again?”

That question remained in my heart.

“No one, if we stand together with the truth.”

That same evening we went to the police. They called Paola too. At first she continued denying everything.

“Cecilia is spreading recordings that she did not obtain legally,” she told the investigator.

Irakli answered calmly:

“The recording was automatically saved on the family’s shared device. Besides, there is camera footage, the technical data of the message, and the school statement.”

Paola’s lawyer closed the folder.

“My client will give no further explanation.”

“You don’t want to defend her anymore?” Paola asked.

“I do, but I cannot defend a lie when the evidence lies there with her own signature.”

This was the first moment when Paola understood that she had lost control.

Two days later they made her listen to her own words.

She sat in a small police room. On the table stood a plastic cup of water, which moved very slightly whenever her nervous hand touched it.

The recording was turned on.

“If we send the message correctly, the guests won’t come.”

Paola closed her eyes.

“Cecilia will believe that she is unwanted by everyone.”

“Enough,” she said.

But the voice continued.

“Then she will sign away the house. She is always afraid that she has no place in the family.”

Paola covered her face with both hands.

I was not sitting beside her. I stood in the opposite chair.

“Did I say this?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think that way.”

“Then why did you say it?”

She could not find an answer.

In the end, the police sent the case to the prosecutor’s office for deliberate deception, illegal use of personal data, and a false guardianship request. The court issued a temporary restraining decision. Paola was forbidden direct contact with me and Valentina.

I was not happy.

Paola was my sister.

But I could no longer hide my child’s pain to ease hers.

Everything concerning my parents also became clear. Nora admitted that she knew about Paola’s plan and stayed silent because she was afraid the family would finally fall apart.

“I thought you would be angry temporarily,” she told me.

“And I thought all my life that I had to be quiet in order to deserve your love.”

Francisco lowered his head.

“We will not ask you to give up the house,” he said.

“I will decide about the house now. Not because you are indebted, but because for the first time I want my choice to be mine.”

One week later I left my room in my parents’ house empty. Only one photograph remained on the wall—Paola and me as children, sitting on one swing. The corner of the photograph was bent, like the star on Valentina’s crown.

I took the rest of the things.

Including my old key, which Tomas had given to Paola.

Three months later I rented a small apartment on the other side of the city. In the morning I worked at a children’s library, and in the evening I cooked dinner with Valentina. We no longer counted how many people came to our house.

If someone came, it was because they truly wanted to.

Valentina acquired a new habit. Every Friday she drew one small picture and stuck it on the refrigerator.

In the first picture she drew a house. The house had a large door, and seven suns could be seen in the windows.

“This is our new house,” she told me.

“It is very big.”

“Because it is not for everyone. Only for those whom we really love.”

In winter the first snow came. On the way back from the library, Valentina took off her gloves and caught snowflakes in her palms.

“Mom, are you happy now?”

I walked silently for a while.

“Now I am free,” I told her.

That answer was more precise.

One evening I received a message from Paola. At first there was only one sentence: “Come, let us forget everything.”

Then a second one came: “We are still family.”

I put the phone on the table.

Rodrigo asked me:

“Will you answer?”

“I already answered.”

“What?”

“With silence.”

On the third day Paola sent a letter. She wrote that the court process was difficult for her, that Nora was ill, and that Tomas needed his mother.

Everything could have been true.

But truth does not mean that I again had to become their support.

I wrote her only one sentence: “I hope that one day you will deal with your decisions yourself.”

Then I blocked the number.

One year after Valentina’s seventh birthday, we held a small party at home. This time only four children came, but all of them came on time. Purple cups were again lying on the table.

And this time Valentina chose the cake herself—a simple chocolate one, with little stars on top.

I took the old crown out of the cupboard. The golden star was still bent, but I did not fix it.

Valentina put it on her head and looked in the mirror.

“Shouldn’t we straighten this?” she asked.

“No,” I answered. “It showed us that something broken can still remain yours.”

She smiled at me and blew out the candles.

Outside, snow was still falling.

Inside, for the first time, no one was waiting for the door.

The door was open.