Part 4 — Strange changes began in my home when I was sixty, and when the doctor asked me a single question, the look on Maxim’s face changed.

Part 4

The call came directly from the prison intake office.

— “Ekaterine, your grandson is asking to speak with you,” the woman on the phone said.

I stood by the window of the hospital room. Morning was breaking outside, and the wind was sweeping wet leaves across the hospital yard.

— “I can’t talk to him right now.”

— “He says he has something very important to tell you.”

— “If it was important, he should have said it before he poured that powder into my tea.”

I disconnected the call.

Five minutes later, the phone rang again.

This time, it was Marina.

— “Ekaterine, we received the genetic results. Vasili is the father of your baby.”

I closed my eyes.

I knew that. That evening when I moved in with Vasili, we admitted to each other for the first time that our feelings were no longer just neighborly. At our age, we didn’t expect such a thing, so I hadn’t even told the doctor anything about it.

— “But you said you found old documents.”

— “Yes. The case file regarding your daughter Irina’s accident. It states that on the day of the crash, the car’s brakes had been tampered with beforehand. It was not an accident.”

The blood froze in my veins.

— “What are you saying?”

— “Maksim ordered that car to be serviced a day before the crash. He was still a teenager back then, but his name appears in the file. It seems someone wanted to use him.”

I leaned against the wall.

Irina. My only child.

For years, I had blamed three drunk men who drove that night. I thought they were the sole reason I lost my daughter. Now it turned out another hand had touched that car before the crash.

— “Who ordered the service?” I asked.

Marina paused for a few seconds.

— “The investigative team is re-checking it. An old document shows that the payment was transferred from your daughter’s bank account.”

Then everything connected together.

Irina’s life insurance.

My apartment.

Maksim’s fear, carried since childhood, that I would abandon him.

And Aliona, who had appeared in his life only a few months ago.

— “Where is Aliona?” I asked.

— “The police have started interrogating her as well. She claims she only gave Maksim the powder and knew nothing about the old accident.”

— “Does Maksim know?”

— “He already knows that this case is no longer just about poisoning.”

That same evening, an attorney arrived. He was a tall, thin man wearing expensive rings on his fingers. He pulled out a chair, but did not sit down.

— “Your grandson admits to the tea incident, though he claims he did not want to commit murder.”

— “The court will decide that.”

— “He also says that you promised him the apartment for years.”

— “A promise is not a will.”

The attorney fixed his eyes on me.

— “If you withdraw the complaint, it might be possible to reduce the sentence.”

— “No.”

— “Think about it. He is your only family member.”

I looked at my reflection in the window. My face was exhausted, but for the first time, I was no longer afraid.

— “My family member is the one who protects my life. Not the one who calculates its price.”

The attorney nodded his head and left.

Two days later, the investigative team played a recording in a small room at the hospital. Maksim was sitting there with his hands resting on the table. The investigator stood beside him.

— “Listen,” he told him.

My grandson’s voice came through the recording:

— “Once the apartment is free, everything will be settled.”

Then Aliona’s voice:

— “If she doesn’t die, she’ll just end up in the hospital. Then you’ll say she was sick.”

Maksim listened to the recording and buried his face in his hands.

— “Did I say that?” he whispered.

— “You said it,” the investigator replied.

— “I didn’t think like that.”

— “The words are still yours.”

For the first time, Maksim heard himself through someone else’s ears. Then he raised his head and looked directly into the camera.

— “Grandma, if you are listening to this, please forgive me.”

I sat in the room, looking at the screen.

I could not forgive him yet.

But I didn’t want to hate him either.

Hate would be another chain binding him to me.

A few weeks later, I was discharged from the hospital. The doctors placed me under strict observation, and Vasili came with me for every check-up morning. He didn’t ask me anymore if I was afraid. He simply held my hand.

When I returned home, my apartment felt strangely quiet.

The bed had been removed from Maksim’s room. Only an old photograph remained on the wall—a little boy holding a red balloon, smiling at his mother standing behind the camera.

I picked up the photo.

On the back, written in small letters: “For Mom and Grandma.”

I looked at it for a long time.

Then I put it in a drawer.

Not because I forgot.

Because the past no longer belonged in my bedroom.

The investigation established that a few days before Irina’s accident, Maksim had paid a boy he knew from school to check the car’s brakes. He thought his mother would leave my apartment to him anyway if Irina were no longer around. That boy failed to sabotage the car, but later, his friends got behind the wheel while drunk, and the tragedy happened.

Maksim was only sixteen years old back then.

But that did not erase his responsibility.

The court sentenced him and Aliona. I did not cry during the hearing. Nor did I feel relief. I only drew a breath when the judge stated that my apartment remained mine and no one could infringe upon it.

Vasili sat beside me.

— “Let’s go,” he said to me.

— “Where?”

— “Home. We still have a lot to do.”

Only a week passed when I felt the baby’s first movement.

Vasili was standing in the kitchen fixing an old radio. I sat on a chair with my hands resting on my stomach, smiling.

— “Vasili,” I called out to him.

— “What happened?”

— “I think the baby woke up.”

He knelt down in front of me.

— “Really?”

— “Really.”

A light appeared in his eyes—one I hadn’t seen in years.

— “Then we should throw a celebration.”

— “Let’s agree on a name first.”

— “If it’s a girl, shall we name her Irina?”

I fell silent for a long moment.

— “No,” I said finally. “Irina is unique, and she will remain in my heart. This child should have her own name.”

Months passed.

I started working at a library in a small town. In the mornings, I arranged books; in the afternoons, I read fairytales to children; and in the evenings, I walked along the riverbank with Vasili.

During the final months of pregnancy, I walked up the stairs slowly. My knee still ached, but now I no longer viewed the pain as the end of life.

It was simply pain.

And pain does not always mean you should stop.

The first snow fell when my daughter was born. She was a tiny, red-cheeked baby, clenching her fingers as if already gripping the world.

Vasili stood by the window.

— “Look, it’s snowing.”

I looked down at the baby.

— “No,” I told him. “This is already a new beginning.”

A few months later, I received a letter from prison. Maksim wrote that he had changed, that he regretted every night, that I had saved his life, and now I had to survive without him.

At the end, one sentence was written:

“Grandma, if you ever can, look at me just once more like you used to.”

I read the letter several times.

Then I wrote a reply.

“I cannot erase what you did. But I will not stop my life because of it either. I can no longer change you. That is your own work.”

I sent the letter.

That was my final answer.

I returned to the kitchen and looked at the items resting on the shelf. The tiny copper spoon with the bird engraved on its handle was still sitting there.

I couldn’t bring myself to touch it for a long time.

Then I picked it up, washed it, and placed it in a drawer alongside the baby’s small cup.

Now it was no longer a weapon.

Nor an object of fear.

It was simply a spoon left from my daughter that I did not let my grandson take away from me.

I walked over to the window. Outside, the snow was falling softly. The baby’s laughter echoed from the room while Vasili was crafting a small wooden toy for her.

I touched the spoon with my hand and smiled peacefully for the first time in many years.

The bird was still shining.

But this time, no fear fell into the cup.