Part 4 — My Wife Locked My Daughter in the House, But When I Opened the Room Door, the Smile Disappeared from Her Face

I knew that name.

Levan was the financial adviser of my business and a person who had access to all the accounts for eight years.

Salome was taken to the police station, and at two in the morning I called the bank’s security service.

“Stop the transfer,” I said.

“Mr. Giorgi, the confirmed transaction has already been completed.”

“I did not confirm it with my signature.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for several seconds.

“Then the case will immediately be transferred to the fraud department.”

Nino was sitting beside me. She was looking at the hospital’s white wall and holding that broken copper medallion in her hand.

“Dad, will Salome come back again?”

“You will never again be left alone with her.”

“That is not what I am asking.”

Her voice destroyed me more than her injured wrists.

“I told you the truth,” I answered. “She will not return to us the way things were before.”

In the morning I called Levan.

He answered on the very first ring.

“Giorgi, it is a terrible misunderstanding. Salome made some things up, and you are now in an emotional state.”

“Money was transferred from my account.”

“The bank probably made a technical error.”

“I found Ana’s recording.”

Levan fell silent.

Then the police officer placed the recorder on the table and played its last recording. Salome’s voice was heard.

“Levan, if Giorgi returns early, force Nino to give us the room key. We must find the envelope, or prison awaits both of us.”

Levan’s breathing changed.

I was listening on my own phone to the voice of the man I had trusted like a family member for years.

“That is not my voice,” he said.

The police officer answered:

“Unfortunately, you yourself say this in the recording.”

For the first time Levan could not find a way out.

That same day his office was searched. The documents contained accounts, forged seals, and a list of money stolen from three different families. Salome had not been alone. But I could no longer punish her partners. That was the court’s matter.

My matter was to return a safe home to Nino.

Salome’s lawyer came in the evening.

“If you soften your statement, she may receive a lesser sentence,” he told me.

“She made my daughter go hungry for three days and beat her with a wooden pestle.”

“The court will take everything into account.”

“I took it into account too.”

“What do you mean?”

“That I will no longer lie for her instead of her.”

The lawyer lowered his head and left.

Several weeks later, in the courtroom, Salome heard her own words for the first time through someone else’s voice. The prosecutor played the recording.

“Force Nino to give us the key.”

“I have not given her food for three days.”

“If she says anything, Giorgi must not believe her.”

Salome sat in the chair and listened to her own voice. She was no longer crying.

She was simply looking at the table, as if she had left her life there.

The judge sentenced her to a long prison term for violence, coercion, and fraud. Levan was also sentenced by the same court for financial crimes. Most of my money was returned, while part of it still remained under investigation.

I did not welcome their punishment.

I simply managed for the first time to fall asleep without the sound of a locked door bringing fear to me.

When I returned from court, I entered Nino’s room.

The bed was empty. On the windowsill lay only one photograph—Ana, Nino when she was little, and me on the shore, with hats fluttering in the wind.

And the broken copper medallion still hung on the wall.

Nino had attached it there.

“Why don’t you throw it away?” I asked.

“Because now seeing it no longer frightens me.”

Three months later we changed cities.

In the new apartment there was the smell of bread in the mornings. Nino went to school, and in the evenings she drew. In one drawing there was a small house, with yellow light in the windows, and two people standing by the door.

“Is this you and me?” I asked.

“No,” she told me. “This is the house where no one lies to us anymore.”

For the first time I smiled without having to force it.

I began working at another company. Every evening I put my phone by the door so that Nino would no longer have to shout to get my attention. I learned that a child’s “I’m fine” does not always mean the truth.

In winter the first snow came.

Nino stood on the balcony and caught flakes in her palm.

That evening I received a message from my old number.

“Giorgi, I know I am writing to you late. Salome only wanted money. And I was protecting your family. Let us start everything over.”

It was Levan’s message.

For several minutes I looked at the screen. The old me would probably have demanded an explanation. I would probably have believed him, because believing is easier than accepting the truth.

Then I deleted the message.

In reply I sent only one sentence.

“Do not come near my house again.”

Nino looked at me through the window.

“Who was it?”

“A person who remained in the past.”

“And you?”

I stood beside her.

“I am here.”

Snow fell against the window glass. Ana’s photograph stood in the room, and in front of it was the blue envelope, now empty and folded. Beside it lay the small copper medallion, whose broken chain Nino had tied together with a new white cord.

Once this medallion meant hiding the key.

Now it meant that the door opened only for those who could be trusted.

Nino took my hand.

Outside, snow covered the old tracks in white.

This time we locked the door ourselves.