Part 4 — For Three Years I Sent Money to My Parents Every Friday, but After Their Reply on My Daughter’s Birthday, My Husband Turned Pale

Nino had not finished her words when the phone became active again.

“The number is registered in Deni’s name,” she said. “But the message was sent from your father’s phone.”

Marcus clenched his jaw.

“We are going to the police.”

I went to the window. People were moving normally in the street. Buses were coming, children were going to school, and stores were opening their doors.

But for me the world had suddenly begun working by different rules.

“First I will call Lily’s school,” I said. “I do not want them to have the opportunity to approach the child.”

Marcus nodded.

The bank director Nino sent all the documents to the police. She placed the transfer history, signatures, recording, and threatening message in one folder.

“You did the right thing by freezing the account,” she told me.

“For years I was not doing the right thing.”

“But today you are.”

That same evening my father came again.

This time he was alone.

He stood at the door and turned his hat in his hand as if he were noticing for the first time that it had a small white spot on it.

“I only want to talk,” he said.

Marcus stood behind me.

“Talk from there.”

My father looked into the room. His gaze stopped on the two empty chairs.

“I did not want it to turn out this way.”

“How did you want it to turn out?” I asked. “Was I supposed to keep paying for another three years?”

“Deni was in debt.”

“And what was I?”

He could not find an answer.

“You are strong, Sarah.”

“No. You simply thought I would not be able to say no to you.”

My father lowered his head.

“Your mother was afraid that she would lose everything.”

“And what was I losing when I was gluing Lily’s shoes?”

He fell silent.

Then Marcus played the recording.

My father’s own voice sounded in the room.

“If you tell Sarah that the money is going to Deni’s account, she will stop everything.”

My father stood motionless.

Then my mother’s voice was recorded.

“She feels guilty. She will not stop.”

The color disappeared from my father’s face.

“How do you have this?”

“They found it at the bank,” I told him.

“That conversation was different.”

“No. It was exactly as we just heard it.”

For the first time he found himself before his own words. He could no longer accuse me of inventing something. He could no longer tell me that I was overly sensitive. His voice was there, in the room, between us, and his lie sounded more clearly than any confession.

My father tried to sit on a chair, but I stepped in front of him.

“You will not enter Lily’s room again.”

“I am her grandfather.”

“A grandfather who chose to go to his other grandchildren on her birthday and then threatened her mother.”

He lowered his eyes.

The next day we went to the police. There we heard that Deni had already tried to take things out of the house to sell. And my mother was calling a lawyer and telling everyone that I was “destroying the family.”

Their lawyer contacted me in the evening.

“If you agree to return part of the money, we will avoid a complaint,” he told me.

“Your clients do not own this money.”

“Do not take a family matter to court.”

“Their lie has gone beyond a family matter.”

The lawyer sighed.

“Mrs. Sarah, you may lose your parents.”

“I lost my parents when my child’s crying meant nothing to them.”

The next day he himself stopped representing them. There were so many contradictions in the documents that he no longer wished to connect his name with them.

Then the hearings began.

It was not a court like in noisy films. No one shouted. The lawyers turned pages, the judge asked questions, and my father looked smaller each time.

The recording was played in the courtroom.

“Sarah feels guilty. She will not stop.”

This time these words were heard before strangers.

My father buried his head in his hands.

The judge ruled that the transfers had been obtained through deception, while Deni’s obligations had been illegally transferred to my account. The cards and accounts were temporarily seized. My liability for Deni’s house was canceled. My parents were ordered to return the money, and a separate investigation was launched because of the threat.

I was not happy.

When the police led my father out of the courtroom, I felt only exhaustion.

When we returned home, Lily’s room door was open. My father’s old photograph was no longer standing there. Lily herself had put it in a drawer.

“I do not want to look at him anymore,” she told me.

“You can take it out again whenever you want.”

“What if I do not want to?”

“Then everything will be all right too.”

Several weeks later we moved to another neighborhood, into a small but bright apartment. Marcus found a job in a new warehouse. I enrolled in an accounting course and in the evenings helped small companies put their accounts in order.

Lily made a new friend at school. She drew houses with large windows and always drew three people: herself, me, and Marcus.

One morning, when the first snow came, we again placed two chairs by the kitchen window.

Lily drew a little star on the window with her finger.

“Mom, will guests come now?”

“Whoever promises to come should come.”

She thought for a little while.

“Marcus always comes.”

“I know.”

“Will you always be here too?”

Her question stayed in my heart.

“As long as I am alive.”

That evening my mother sent me a letter. It was short.

“Come, let us forget everything. Family is still family.”

I stared at the screen for a long time. Before, at such a sentence, I would have called immediately. I would have asked what they needed, what I could do, and how much money I should transfer.

Now I sent only one reply.

“I will not return to a place where my love is used as a debt. I wish you peace, but I will no longer participate in finding it.”

Then I blocked the number.

Lily found her old glittering frame. It had cracks, and one corner was slightly broken off. I took out the photograph and put in a new picture: the three of us, photographed on a snowy morning, by the window.

Instead of two empty chairs, our three cups now stood there.

Lily placed the frame on the windowsill.

The glitter was still sparkling.

This time it was waiting for no one.