Part 4 — I only asked him to wash the dishes during my pregnancy, but my mother-in-law stormed into the house and my husband’s face suddenly changed

Irakli put down the phone, and a heavy silence fell over the room.

“Nino, let no one leave the building until the police arrive,” he said.

Eka looked toward the door.

“This is a misunderstanding.”

“Then it will be cleared up easily,” the lawyer replied.

Lasha stood up.

“Mother, sit down.”

It was the first time he had addressed her that way.

Eka looked at him, frozen.

“You want to accuse me in front of strangers?”

“I did not accuse you. You did it yourself.”

His voice was quiet, but everyone in the room heard it.

The phone rang again. This time it was Lasha’s lawyer.

“I will not answer,” he said.

“Answer,” I told him. “Maybe for the first time someone will tell you what you have to do.”

Lasha looked at the screen and ended the call.

A minute later the lawyer called himself, and Lasha answered.

“I did not write anything,” Lasha said.

The voice from the other side could be heard clearly because the room was quiet.

“You signed the loan agreement. The document signed in your wife’s name is a separate matter.”

“My mother told me everything would be settled.”

“I am not a member of your family. I look at the facts. If your wife’s signature is forged, I can no longer remain your representative in this case.”

Lasha closed his eyes.

“Please do not abandon me.”

“I cannot defend in court a person who hid important information from me.”

The call ended.

Lasha put the phone on the table. For the first time he heard his own words through someone else’s ears. “Mother told me,” “Everything would be settled,” “I did not write anything.” Those words no longer sounded like excuses. They became an accusation.

The police arrived soon. Two investigators spoke with Eka, while I handed over all the documents. Among them was the little sheet on which Lasha had written by hand: “I am afraid Nino will find out.”

Eka told me that this was private correspondence.

“A private lie cannot become a debt taken in my name,” I answered.

She looked away.

Then everything happened quickly. The bank suspended the request to encumber the apartment because an examination of my signature was scheduled. The investigator took Eka’s phone and bag. Lasha was told that he could not leave the country until the investigation was completed.

I returned home alone.

His things were still arranged in the bedroom. A half-packed bag stood beside the bed. On the floor lay a small bag with a wooden handle—the one with which Eka had first come to me and told me that her son was not a servant.

That evening I entered the baby’s room.

It was empty.

A small crib stood by the wall, in which no one had yet slept. My cups were no longer on the shelf, because I had brought them down to the lower shelf again. Traces of rain remained on the window glass.

Lasha’s photograph lay on the crib. It was from our wedding day. I picked up the photograph, looked at it for several seconds, and then put it in a drawer.

I did not tear it up.

I simply no longer wanted it hanging on the wall.

Three weeks later the court issued a temporary protective order. Lasha was ordered to participate in the apartment rent and loan payments, while the investigation into the illegal use of my name continued. A separate case began against Eka, because the examination confirmed that the co-borrower’s signature was forged.

I did not greet this news with joy.

A legal response was necessary, but someone else’s fall could not create a feeling of victory in my heart. I only wanted no one to have the right to choose my life instead of me.

Two months later, when my daughter was born, Salome sat beside me in the maternity hospital. The baby wore a white hat and opened her little fists.

“What did you name her?” Salome asked.

“Ana.”

“It is a beautiful name.”

“I chose it because it sounds peaceful.”

Ana often woke up at night. Each time I got up, prepared milk, went to the window, and watched the city lights. I was tired, but this tiredness was mine. There was no lie mixed into it.

Three months later I moved to a new job. I worked at a small clinic where, during breaks, the employees shared food with one another and no one asked me why I did not smile. Salome came to us once a week and left colored pencils for Ana.

Ana was still only drawing lines. One day she drew a house on a sheet of paper. The house had a large window, and a little woman stood by the door.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Mom,” she answered.

“Are you alone?”

Ana thought, then drew a small yellow circle beside it.

“The sun is here.”

Then I realized that being alone and being abandoned were not the same thing.

Lasha did not appear for several months. His case was under investigation, and Eka was awaiting questioning in court. He no longer called me, except for one short message that I received seven months later.

“Nino, I understand everything. Mother made mistakes, but we can start over. At least for Ana.”

I looked at the screen for a long time.

Then I wrote a reply.

“For Ana I need peace. A new beginning cannot happen where the truth was hidden. Please contact me only through a lawyer.”

I calmly pressed the send button.

Lasha called me that same evening. I did not answer.

He did not call a second time.

In winter the first snow came. Ana was already standing on her feet and hitting the window with her hands. I was washing dishes in the kitchen and suddenly laughed.

There was no one else’s dried bowl by the sink anymore.

No one called me shouting.

No one reminded me that I was not someone’s servant.

Only the calm sound of water and the child’s laughter could be heard in the house.

I kept the old bag with the wooden handle in the bottom drawer of the cabinet. There was nothing inside it anymore, but I could not throw it away. It was the object from the day when I first understood how alone I stood in my own home.

Months later I took the bag out, wiped off the dust, and put Ana’s toys inside it.

She took hold of the handle.

“Is this mine?”

“Now it is yours.”

Ana ran forward, dragged the bag across the floor, and turned back laughing.

I stood at the door and watched her.

In the house where others had once decided what my place was, for the first time I stayed of my own will.

The bag with the wooden handle swung peacefully in Ana’s little hand.

This time no one took me out of the house.