Three Days After the Funeral, My Son Threw Me Out of the House, but When His Wife Heard My Calm Reply, the Smile Disappeared from Her Face

My son had barely put the wreaths from the coffin in the living room when he stuffed my forty years of life into black garbage bags and told me that I was no longer needed in that house.

“Get into the car, Mother. Don’t make everything more difficult.”

Daniel said it as if he were taking me from a hospital, not from my own house. In his hand he held my robe, the dark green one in whose pocket I always kept a small wooden cross. The cross fell onto the floor and spun around twice.

I looked at him and for the first time felt that the boy who had placed a wet towel on my forehead during feverish nights was no longer standing before me.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To a place where they will look after you.”

His wife, Mariam, stood at the door. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she did not look away from me.

“It will be better for you too, Mrs. Marina. This house is too large for you.”

Behind her stood the white flowers that no one had yet taken away after Ernesto’s funeral. The smells of coffee, incense, and withered lilies mixed together in the room. Every morning I still believed that I would hear my husband’s cough from the next room.

But Daniel was looking at his watch.

“We buried Father three days ago,” I told him. “How can you behave like this?”

“That is exactly why we must put everything in order.”

“What do you have to put in order?”

He did not answer me. He only put the bags in the trunk. My wedding photographs were there too, as well as the old notebook of recipes and the small copper key that Ernesto always left on top of the cabinet.

I was sixty-seven years old, but I lived independently. I managed my own accounts, cooked food, went to the store alone, and worked several days a week in one of our shops.

“I do not need a nursing home,” I told him on the way.

Daniel gripped the steering wheel more tightly.

“I have already decided.”

“Did you at least speak with me about it?”

“Mother, don’t force me to feel guilty.”

At these words I understood that what bothered him was not my pain, but his own discomfort.

The institution on the outskirts of the city was old. The paint had been scraped off the walls, and there was a strong smell of chlorine at the entrance. A clock hung in the corridor, but it too had stopped at fifteen minutes past four.

“Daniel, please, don’t leave me here,” I said and grabbed his sleeve. “I have barely lost Father.”

He pulled his hand away from me.

“You will be safe here.”

“And where will you be?”

For the first time he smiled. It was a cold, unfamiliar smile.

“Tomorrow the real estate agency will take photographs of the house.”

“Why photographs?”

“For sale.”

The word stuck in my heart.

“This is my house.”

“It was Father’s house,” he sneered. “Now everything will change.”

Mariam added quietly:

“The sooner you get used to it, the less difficult it will be for you.”

Daniel left. He did not stop at the door. He did not look back even once when I called his name.

I was left alone in a small room. The bed was narrow, and on the windowsill stood an almost dried violet in a plastic pot. I took my things out of the black bags and arranged them on the bed.

Then I remembered the envelope.

Ernesto had given it to me one night before his death. His fingers barely obeyed him, but he still told me:

“Open it only if, after my departure, someone tries to harm you.”

I felt the touch of heavy paper in the inner pocket. I took out the envelope. I broke the seal.

I read the first page.

Then the second.

The tears no longer came.

At that same moment I took the telephone and dialed the number of our lawyer, Mr. Salgadze.

“Marina?” he answered.

“Come to me. Immediately. And before you come, stop the sale of the house.”

“What happened?”

I clenched the envelope in my hand.

“Apparently, my son does not know who this house belongs to.”

Twenty minutes later Salgadze entered the room. His face had an expression as if he already understood that this was not an ordinary family quarrel.

“Give me the documents,” he said.

I handed him the envelope.

He unfolded the first sheet, lowered his eyes, and just then someone at the end of the corridor entered the door with quick steps…

Salgadze locked the door and lowered the curtains.

“No one must enter here until I read everything,” he told me.

His fingers touched the corners of the documents as if he were afraid of the fire hidden in the paper. And I recognized Daniel’s voice in the corridor.

“I want to speak with Mother!”

“You cannot enter now,” Salgadze replied.

“This is my family!”

“It is precisely family ties that do not give you the right to sell someone else’s property.”

The door handle moved. My heart rose into my throat.

“Mr. Salgadze, tell me what is written.”

He sighed.

“Ernesto did everything in advance. But this is not only a matter of inheritance.”

“Then what is it?”

Salgadze took a small memory card from the envelope. On its surface, in Ernesto’s handwriting, was written: “For Marina, if Daniel rushes.”

In the corridor Daniel struck the door with his fist.

“Open up!”

Salgadze put the card in his bag.

“We must listen to this first. But know one thing: if the recording is what I think it is, your son will have to say goodbye to more than just the house.”

Mariam’s frightened voice was heard beyond the door:

“Daniel, perhaps we should leave…”

“Be quiet!”

Salgadze opened the computer, inserted the card, and pressed the sound-recording sign. Ernesto’s weak breathing sounded in the room, and then his voice:

“Marina, if you are listening to this, it means that Daniel has already taken a step…”

Ernesto’s voice sounded in the room as if the man were still sitting in our kitchen. Raindrops fell on the window, while beyond the corridor Daniel was violently hitting the door.

“Marina, I apologize to you for not telling you this earlier. Daniel has debts. Large debts. He took money from our accounts and several months ago even tried to forge my signature.”

My breath caught.

“No…” I barely pronounced.

Salgadze raised his hand to me.

The recording continued.

“The house, the shops, the account, and the land in Zapopan belong to you. Two years ago I transferred everything into your name. Along with this, I left with the notary a document that comes into force after my death. Daniel has no right to sell anything while you are alive and do not agree.”

Salgadze looked at the screen and said quietly:

“It is exactly as written in the documents.”

I looked at the clock hanging on the wall. It was still fifteen minutes past four. At that moment I understood that even stopped time could bring the truth.

In the recording Ernesto’s voice became even weaker.

“If Daniel tries to sell your house, Salgadze has my letter and copies of his financial actions. I do not want my son to be punished, but neither do I want him to accelerate your death in the hope that everything will soon become his.”

The door shook again.

“Mother!” Daniel shouted. “Don’t believe this man!”

Salgadze stopped the recording and went toward the door.

“Daniel, did you know all this?”

“I know nothing! These documents are forged!”

“Then why did you schedule the house photographs for tomorrow?”

There was no answer.

Mariam said quietly:

“Daniel, you told me the house was already yours.”

“Now is not the time for this!”

Salgadze opened the door only a few centimeters.

“The sale of the house is stopped. A warning has also been filed with the banks. If you try to use Marina’s property again, the materials will be handed over to the police.”

Daniel’s face went pale.

“She is my mother!”

“And not your signature,” Salgadze replied calmly.

Then a message came to my phone from an unknown number. It contained only one sentence: “If you want to know who was in the hospital that night, contact a woman named Tekla.”

I showed Salgadze the screen.

His face changed in one second.

“Tekla…” he repeated. “That is impossible. That woman came to me six months ago and told me that she knew something about Ernesto’s last days that would connect Daniel to everything.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because she had no evidence.”

A new message arrived.

“Daniel did not plan only the sale of the house after your father’s death. He still keeps one document in the clinic.”

Daniel fell silent beyond the door. Then his voice was heard, but this time there was no anger in it.

“Mother, before it is too late, I need to talk to you.”

Salgadze looked toward me.

“The choice is yours now. But I warn you, Mrs. Marina: if Tekla is telling the truth, you have not yet heard the heaviest story in this room…”