Part 4 — “The food must be ready on time,” he told me when I could no longer get up from the floor — and then suddenly turned pale

Lawrence’s words were still hanging in the air when Marcus called again.

This time Phyllis answered.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Mother, do not play the fool. Do the police already know?”

Phyllis looked at me. Her face was tired, but the spark of that old pride was still in her eyes.

“Marcus, come home.”

“I am not coming home anymore. Send me the car.”

“Where are you?”

“At the airport parking lot. Bring me money and a passport.”

Lawrence put a finger to his lips and signaled to Sarah to record the call.

For the first time Phyllis could not answer.

“Mother!” Marcus shouted. “Can you hear me?”

“I hear you,” she said. “And I am very afraid.”

“You got involved in this yourself. Now you will drag us both down.”

“I was only protecting you.”

“You could not control my wife.”

These words fell into the room like a heavy object.

I listened to Marcus’s voice and it seemed strangely unfamiliar to me. This was the person who made coffee for me every morning and promised that he would never leave me. Now his first fear was his own name.

Lawrence ended the call and calmly told Phyllis:

“Ma’am, your son is saying everything in his own voice.”

Phyllis raised her head.

“You cannot prove that this is real.”

Sarah raised the recorder.

“I was here. I heard everything.”

“You destroyed my family,” Phyllis exclaimed.

“No,” I told her. “I only opened the door that you yourselves locked.”

The police took Phyllis away. Before she went through the door, she looked at my silver pendant. The chain was still broken, and the frame of the photograph was cracked.

“All this happened because of money,” she said.

“No,” I answered. “Money was only an excuse. You wanted to take my voice away.”

Marcus was arrested at the airport that same evening. His lawyer contacted me the next morning.

“Mr. Marcus is ready to explain everything to you,” he said.

“I have already heard everything.”

“He wants an agreement.”

“I have no agreement with him.”

“If you change your testimony, the family may save itself.”

“The family lost itself on its own.”

The lawyer was silent for several seconds.

“You are speaking very coldly.”

“No,” I told him. “I am simply no longer trying to save someone else’s lie.”

Three days later the doctor said that returning home was possible if someone helped me. Sarah moved in with me. A low table was placed beside the sofa in the living room, and on it were a bottle of water, medicines, and a small bell.

We left the bedroom door open.

Phyllis’s heavy frying pan no longer stood in the kitchen. The oven was turned off. The sack of flour lay in the corner, and her fingerprints could be seen on it.

But most of all, the room where Marcus’s things lay hurt me.

His shirts hung in the closet. He had left a book beside the bed. Our wedding photograph still hung on the wall, but his face no longer caught my eye. I did not dare take the photograph down.

One evening Lawrence told me that Marcus’s voice recording would be played for him in court.

“Is it necessary?” I asked.

“Yes. He denied that it was his voice.”

Several weeks later I entered the courtroom, still on crutches. My knees no longer hurt as strongly, but every step reminded my body of the old fear.

Marcus was sitting on the opposite side.

When he saw me, he started to stand up.

His lawyer stopped him with a hand.

“Sit down.”

Marcus lowered his head.

The recording was turned on.

“If she survives, the next accident must be more convincing.”

When he heard his own voice, Marcus froze first. Then he closed his eyes.

The judge asked:

“Is this your voice?”

Marcus could not answer.

“I asked you, is this your voice?”

“Yes,” he said.

That one word turned out to be the end of our entire marriage.

Phyllis confessed in her testimony. She said that Marcus’s debts had grown when he lost money in illegal bets. The house insurance was their last hope. Phyllis planned the accident, and Marcus paid the technician.

Their lawyer refused an agreement until both of them admitted responsibility. In the end Marcus pleaded guilty. Phyllis did too.

The court sentenced them, and part of the money received from selling the house was used for my treatment and compensation for the damage.

I felt no joy when I heard this decision.

Only exhaustion.

Twelve weeks later I took my first step.

Sarah stood beside me, but I did not take her hand. I wanted to learn to trust my own body again.

“Are you afraid?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then walk slowly.”

“I will walk slowly.”

After selling the house, I rented a small apartment near the river. In the mornings I watched boats from the window. Four days a week I went to a rehabilitation center, and in the evenings I taught children to draw online.

One day my six-year-old neighbor, Leo, knocked on my door. He was holding a sheet of paper.

“I drew this for you,” he told me.

On the paper was a woman who had two large wings instead of legs.

“Why does she have wings?” I asked.

“Because no one can throw her crutches far away anymore.”

I laughed. For the first time in a long while.

I received a letter from Phyllis three months later. From Marcus — one week later.

“Clara, I know that I do not deserve forgiveness. I just want you to know that I did everything wrong.”

I read the letter to the end and put it in a drawer.

I did not answer.

In the second letter Marcus wrote that when he got out, he wanted to start over.

This time I replied.

“You can start over. Not with me.”

Then I folded the letter and threw it into the trash bin.

On the first morning of winter, snow lay on the windowsill. In the kitchen the kettle hissed quietly. I had attached Leo’s drawing to the refrigerator with a magnet.

I took the silver pendant out of the bag. I had had the chain replaced, but I had not repaired the crack in the photograph.

My mother’s face was still divided into two.

But now this no longer frightened me.

The crack remained, but light could still be seen behind the photograph.

I put the pendant around my neck, locked the door, and went out into the street.

The first snow quietly crumbled beneath my feet.

I was no longer waiting for anyone.

I was walking.