The phone rang again before any of us even dared to breathe.
Ethan looked at the screen.
“It’s from Marcy.”
Marcy’s face turned white in one second.
“Don’t answer.”
Ethan picked it up anyway.
“I’m listening.”
On the other side, the voice of an agitated man could be heard. It was Luka, Marcy’s brother. For several months, the money transferred to my account had been used for his company. Marcy convinced me that it was a quick investment, and I transferred the money using a loan signed in Ethan’s name.
“Luka, everything is being recorded,” Ethan told him.
“Ethan, please, don’t do this. We will return the money.”
“When?”
Silence.
“In two weeks.”
“You no longer have two weeks.”
Ethan ended the call.
Marcy stood in front of him.
“Elene did this, not me.”
Her words froze the room once again.
I looked at her. For years Marcy had stood beside me while I laughed at Ethan. I thought she was my friend because she applauded every one of my cruelties.
“You told me everything was legal,” I said.
“You wanted the money yourself.”
“You told me that my husband would sign.”
“And he did sign, didn’t he?”
Ethan turned on the recording.
Marcy’s voice was heard: “Elene, just tell him it’s a family renovation. He doesn’t ask questions at all if you bring him coffee afterward.”
Marcy covered her face with her hands.
It was the most painful moment. Not because she had betrayed me. Because I realized what I was in their eyes. I was no longer a strong woman who controlled everything. I was a person who covered her own humiliation with loud laughter and allowed others to use my shame.
Grem, who had been standing at the bar until then, opened a lawyer’s bag.
“I am Ethan’s lawyer,” he said. “This evening was not accidental. Ethan wanted to tell you everything in front of you all at least once before filing an official statement.”
I looked at him.
“You knew too?”
“Only what was in the documents.”
“And you still came here?”
“Because Ethan should not have had to be alone that night.”
Ethan closed the folder.
“Elene, I am not trying to punish you. I want you to stay away from me and stop touching what I built over the years.”
“You took everything from me.”
“No. I only took what was mine.”
He said this answer calmly. That was precisely why I could not be angry with him.
At eleven o’clock at night, police officers arrived. Marcy and Luka were taken away separately with their phones. Tessa came outside with me and put a coat over my shoulders.
“Elene, I should have stopped you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was afraid you would lose your laughter.”
“You did not make me lose my laughter. I lost myself.”
The next morning we went to the bank. They checked the supporting documents, and it became clear that part of the loan money had gone to Luka’s company and part to Marcy’s account. I was confused, but Ethan answered every question calmly. His hands were still empty and firm.
The lawyer appointed a separate representative for my case. Ethan and I had to sign the divorce documents. The house remained with Ethan, because he had the original ownership of it and receipts proving all the payments. I took only the things that personally belonged to me.
Among them was a small copper candle holder.
Six years earlier, on my birthday, Ethan had bought it at a cheap store. It was raining that night, and in the kitchen we were looking at one small, crooked candle. Water was dripping from Ethan’s coat, while I made a wish—that he would always see me.
When I returned home, the living room was almost empty. Our wedding photograph no longer hung on the wall. Only two small hooks remained, and a clean strip of dust could be seen between them.
Ethan’s coffee cup was no longer in the kitchen.
And on the refrigerator door I found a sheet of paper. It was neither a reproach nor a farewell. Only one sentence was written: “Please, this time really read everything you sign.”
I held the sheet of paper in my hands for a long time.
Then I folded it and did not throw it into the trash.
Several weeks later I moved into a small apartment. It was at the other end of the city, on the fourth floor, with no elevator. In the morning I met a neighbor’s cat on the stairs, and in the afternoon I worked at a nearby library. I arranged the bookshelves, and for the first time in a long while no one asked me how interesting my life looked.
In the first month I deleted social networks.
In the second month I received a letter from Marcy. She wrote that Luka had shifted everything onto her, that she was cooperating with the prosecutor’s office, and that perhaps I would change my statement.
I did not reply.
Ethan recovered his share of the debt through the courts. Marcy’s company stopped operating. I was not happy about this news. I simply stopped trying to save people who had chosen to fall themselves.
Three months later Tessa called me.
“How are you?”
I was standing by the window. Outside, the first snow was falling, and white flakes slowly descended onto the street lamps.
“Calm,” I answered.
“Is that good?”
“I don’t know. But for the first time I am not afraid that calm means boredom.”
That same week, my little nephew Nika decided to stay with me. In the evening he placed a sheet of paper on the table. A house was drawn on it, and above the house was a huge yellow sun.
“This is your new house,” he told me.
“Why is there no other person here?”
Nika shrugged.
“Because the door is open. Whoever wants to can come in.”
These words affected me more strongly than any lawyer’s conclusion.
I began going to therapy. Every morning I made coffee myself and did not wait for anyone to guess my taste. In the evenings I put my phone on silent. On Sundays I went to the market and bought bread from a small bakery, where the seller learned my name only after I had come several times.
One day I received a short message from Ethan.
“You can take the things left at the house. If you want, the door will be open on Saturday.”
I looked at the screen for a long time.
Then I wrote:
“I no longer need the things. I want peace.”
His reply came several minutes later.
“Then I wish you peace.”
It was the last message.
That evening I placed the copper candle holder on the windowsill. I put a new, straight candle into it. The flame was small, but it did not flicker.
I no longer wanted anyone to prove that they could see me.
The candle illuminated the room.
And for the first time, I saw myself.
Missed the beginning?
