Part 4 — After ten years of waiting, I went to Nadia’s door full of love, but a single word from her made me lose all heart.

 

Part 4

I found out about Vadim’s complaint that same evening, right after I stepped out of Nadia’s house.

My manager, Irakli, called me.

— “Andria, come in tomorrow at eight in the morning. A complaint has been filed against you.”

— “From Vadim?”

— “From his attorney. He claims you used the company stamp.”

I stood by the window. Outside, the wind rattled the tin roofing.

— “I have a recording.”

— “A recording is good, but a recording alone isn’t enough. Gather every work log, entry record, and document.”

— “I will.”

— “And Andria…”

— “I’m listening.”

— “Don’t take risks for Nadia’s sake.”

I let out a bitter smile.

— “This time, I’m not going for Nadia’s sake. I’m going for the sake of the truth.”

In the morning, everyone in the office fell silent whenever I walked past. The smell of paper coming off the printer, warm dust, and the bitterness of stale coffee mingled in the air. Sitting on the corner of my desk was the small wooden train I had brought back with the gifts the day before.

One of its wheels was loose.

Yet I didn’t throw it away.

I spent three hours organizing the documents. Afterward, we retrieved the surveillance footage. It showed that the official stamp was locked inside my cabinet on the day I allegedly signed off on the statement for Vadim’s enterprise. The camera also captured Vadim’s employee stepping stealthily into my room.

Irakli froze the screen.

— “This is sufficient to invalidate the complaint.”

— “We still need that document Nadia mentioned.”

— “From Vadim’s office?”

— “Yes.”

— “We cannot enter there unlawfully.”

— “Then let’s obtain it through legal means.”

Nadia arrived that same afternoon. She wore a dark wool coat, with a small silver embroidery needle fastened to her collar. She told me it was her mother’s item, and that she used to sew clothes for the children herself.

— “I thought you wouldn’t show up today,” she said.

— “I thought so too.”

— “Are you still helping me?”

— “No. I am coming with you.”

She nodded her head to me.

Attorney Elene met us at Vadim’s enterprise that evening. The building stood half-empty. The hallway smelled of pine resin and dampness, while an unlit bulb flickered on the wall.

Vadim sat in his office, his fingers tapping continuously against the desk.

— “You won’t find anything here,” he said.

— “Then why are you objecting?” Elene asked him.

— “Because this is my private office.”

— “We have a court order.”

Vadim drained of color.

They unclasped the cabinet. Inside the third drawer, beneath old calendars, they uncovered a folder with Nadia’s name written across the cover. Inside lay an agreement in which Vadim covered the enterprise’s debts using Nadia’s real estate. At the bottom stood his signature.

Yet the final page proved to be the most critical of all.

There it was written that Vadim was deliberately falsifying electricity consumption in the statements to shift liability from the enterprise management onto me. Below, his handwritten note was visible:

“If everything collapses, blame Andria. He already has a motive to protect Nadia.”

Nadia stared at that sentence for a long time.

— “He knew you would come here,” she said.

— “He probably knew I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

— “And he took advantage of that.”

— “He won’t be able to take advantage of it anymore.”

After that, everything unfolded rapidly. Vadim was charged with document forgery, financial fraud, and embezzlement of corporate assets. The court invalidated the mortgage placed on Nadia’s house after confirming that her signature had been forged. I retained my job, yet that case stripped away the old pride within me. I realized that defending the truth and saving a person are not the exact same thing.

Vadim’s attorney called me three days later.

— “We are withdrawing the complaint against you,” he told me.

— “Why?”

— “Because my client is no longer telling me the truth. I will not participate in a case like this.”

It was the first time Vadim was left completely alone with his own words.

During the court hearing, they played the audio recording.

His voice resonated through the room:

“Just get Nadia to sign it. She won’t suspect a thing.”

Vadim sat in his chair. At first, he tried to look straight at the judge, but when he heard his own voice play a second time, his shoulders slumped completely.

— “I didn’t say that,” he whispered.

Elene answered calmly:

— “Yet that is your voice.”

Vadim covered his ears with his hands.

I didn’t look in his direction.

Nadia, however, watched him. Not out of vengeance—she was simply seeing, for the first time, a man she had known for ten years who could no longer hide behind his own words.

That evening, I went to Nadia’s house solely to deliver the remaining books left behind in the children’s room. I didn’t knock on the door anymore; she opened it herself.

— “Come in.”

It was the very first time she had invited me inside as a guest.

Yet we didn’t talk about love.

The little girl, Maria, saw the wooden train.

— “Did you buy this for us?”

— “Yes.”

— “Then why did you take it back?”

I knelt down and handed her the toy.

— “Because your mother told me you weren’t ready yet.”

Maria took the train in her hands.

— “We’re ready now.”

Nadia’s eyes lit up, but she shook her head to the side.

— “The children can accept help from you. But that doesn’t mean we are planning to get married or live together.”

— “I know.”

— “And it may never happen.”

— “I know.”

This time, my response was neither a plea nor a hidden bargain.

It was simply the truth.

Weeks passed. Vadim relocated to the city, after which the court barred him from leaving the country. He called several times—sometimes promising the children he would return, sometimes threatening Nadia, and at other times apologizing. Nadia stopped answering.

As for me, I began repairing household appliances for the children, visiting them on Sundays, but always calling beforehand.

I didn’t step where I wasn’t expected.

It was a subtle difference.

Yet that exact difference transformed me.

Three months later, Nadia began working part-time at the village school. Maria drew a fresh picture using colored pencils: the four figures were gone. Only three stood in a green yard, with a large yellow sun shining above them.

— “Who is this?” I asked.

— “Me, Mom, and Luka,” she replied.

— “Why is the sun so big?”

— “Because it needs to come inside the house.”

In late March, I relocated to the city. My company offered me a management position in a new department. I rented a small apartment near the river. In the morning, I would open the window, prepare coffee, and for the first time in ten years, I didn’t check whether Nadia would walk past the end of the street.

The silence hurt at first.

Then I grew to love it.

One evening, I received a text message from Vadim.

“Tell Nadia that everything is over. Let’s return to our old life. And you, Andria, if you truly love her, don’t stand in our way.”

I stared at the screen for a long time.

In the past, I would have seen those words as a personal challenge. Now, I saw only an exhausted man who wanted someone else to straighten out the life he had ruined himself.

I forwarded the text to Nadia and asked:

— “Do you want me to reply?”

She messaged me back a few minutes later:

— “No. Don’t answer him this time either.”

I laid the phone down on the table.

I didn’t want to reply either.

During the season’s first spring snow, the children came to visit me in the city. Maria set a new drawing on my windowsill, while Luka brought the wooden train. I had repaired its loose wheel, fitting it with a tiny metal axle.

The train rolled smoothly once more.

Nadia stood by the door.

— “Thank you for not disappearing back then,” she told me.

— “I almost disappeared.”

— “But you returned different.”

— “So did you.”

She smiled. Not with that old wedding laugh—much more calmly. Like a person who has finally reclaimed her own home.

I was no longer waiting for that smile to belong to me.

The love I had carried quietly in my heart for ten years remained with me in the end—not as a prize, but as a lesson. Nadia was not a trophy to be claimed after Vadim’s departure. She was a human being with the right to her own choices, even if those choices were painful for me.

Outside the window, the snow was melting. On Maria’s drawing, the yellow sun filled the room.

The wooden train sat on the table, its wheels securely fastened, facing forward.

For the first time, I was no longer waiting for anyone to leave.

The train departed. And I remained free.