The knock on the door sounded for the second time.
Lisa opened the door.
Two investigators stood in the corridor, and Thomas could be seen behind them. He held a small box in his hands.
“Mr. Nick,” one of the investigators said, “we need to speak with you about the financial agreement of Mariam Edwards and Colin Walsh.”
Mariam let go of the chair.
“Nick, did you call the police?”
“I gave the documents to the auditor. They decided the rest.”
“Did you want me arrested?”
“I only stopped carrying the consequences for you instead of you.”
Colin moved toward the door, but the second investigator blocked his way.
“Mr. Walsh, you must stay too.”
His phone rang again. He looked at the screen and lost color.
“The director is calling me,” he said.
“Answer,” Lisa advised. “Perhaps for the first time you will hear what people think about you when you are no longer in the room.”
Colin answered the call.
“Yes?”
The voice on the other side was so clear that I heard it too.
“Leave the company building immediately. Your access has been canceled. Do not contact any employee until the audit is finished.”
Colin slowly lowered the phone.
Mariam leaned against the wall.
“This is impossible.”
Thomas handed the small box to Lisa.
“The security guard found this in the camera room. They did not manage to delete the recording. They only changed the file names.”
Lisa opened the box. Inside was a small dark-green glass card that was given to the guests of the beach house at the entrance. On the back, written with a marker, were the words: “Mariam and Colin — second exit.”
Mariam looked at the object and closed her eyes.
“I did not want everything to happen this way.”
“But it happened anyway,” I told her.
She came toward me.
“Nick, let’s go home. I will explain everything to you.”
“I am not going back home.”
“It was our home.”
“You made it a place where I could no longer recognize myself.”
Mariam held out her hand to me. Her fingers trembled only slightly.
“Help me at least once.”
I looked at her hand, then shook my head.
“I helped you for four years. Now you must face what you did.”
The investigators took Mariam and Colin away separately. I was not glad about their departure. Nor did I feel relief. I simply did not have to remain in the room for the first time and explain someone else’s lie.
That evening Lisa called me.
“The joint account has been temporarily blocked. The sale of the house has been suspended. The forged-signature case is also under investigation.”
“What awaits Mariam?”
“The court will decide that.”
“And me?”
Lisa was silent for several seconds.
“You have already decided. You left.”
The following weeks began noisily.
Mariam’s lawyer called me first and said that everything was a “family misunderstanding.”
“Your client had a double life, hid funds, and forged a signature,” I replied.
“If you refuse the agreement, the process will be difficult for everyone.”
“It was already difficult for me. Now it only needs to be exact.”
The same lawyer left the case the next day.
Then Mariam called me.
I answered for the first time.
Her voice was quiet.
“I heard my own words,” she told me.
“What do you mean?”
“Lisa prepared the recording for the court. My voice is there. I say that you cannot prove anything. When I heard the recording, I did not recognize that woman.”
I stood by the window. Drops of rain ran down the glass of the new apartment.
“But that woman was you.”
“I know.”
“That matters.”
“I know.”
For the first time there was no anger in her voice. Only tiredness.
“Could you ever forgive me?” she asked.
I lowered my eyes.
“Forgiveness and returning are not the same thing.”
“You are not asking me to return?”
“No.”
“Then what are you asking me?”
“Nothing. For the first time I am asking you for nothing.”
I ended the call.
A month later I went to the old house to collect the things left there. A representative of Lisa opened the door for me. The rooms were empty. My books were no longer on the shelf. Only one photograph remained on the wall — our wedding day, where Mariam was smiling and I was touching her shoulder.
I did not take the photograph.
In the kitchen stood the old coffee machine. Beside it was Mariam’s favorite jar of cinnamon. The house was strangely quiet, as if even the walls knew that their work was finished.
I stopped in the bedroom.
On the top shelf of the closet I found the small wooden box of my father’s pocket watch. I thought I had already taken it, but the box had remained there. I picked it up and closed it in my palm.
The watch still did not work.
But this time its stopping was no longer painful.
Three months later the court declared Mariam’s and Colin’s financial agreement fraudulent. Part of the money was returned. The house was sold, and I used my share to buy a small coastal apartment.
Mariam was given a suspended sentence, while Colin, after being dismissed from the company, was charged separately with a financial offense. I did not smile at a single hearing.
When the judge announced the decision, Mariam looked toward me. I only nodded.
It was not reconciliation.
It was goodbye.
Six months later my new life was made up of small details.
In the mornings I worked in a workshop located near the coast. I made wooden furniture, and for the first time in a long while my hands became tired from work, not fear.
I no longer added cinnamon to my coffee.
On Fridays I stayed home, opened the window, and listened to the sound of the sea. I was no longer interested in who was with whom and what anyone was hiding.
One evening my niece, Elene, came to me. She was eight years old and had colored pencils with her.
“Uncle, I drew a picture for you,” she told me.
On the paper was a small house, and in front of it stood a man holding a watch.
“Is this me?” I asked.
“Yes. You no longer leave the house. You build it yourself.”
Her words struck me so deeply that for several seconds I could not answer.
“Why does the house have such large windows?”
“So that light can come inside.”
I attached the drawing to the refrigerator.
That same week I received a final letter from Mariam. The envelope was white, and my new address was written on it by hand.
“I know that I no longer deserve you to return. I simply wanted you to know that I am beginning treatment and trying to understand why I destroyed everything. I do not ask for your reply.”
I read the letter to the end.
Then I gave it to Lisa so that she could keep it with the case documents.
I did not write to Mariam.
Not because I hated her.
Because her recovery was no longer my responsibility.
On the first day of winter, snow came to the coast. Rare, light flakes fell on the wooden railing and disappeared into the water.
I stood by the window and looked at my father’s pocket watch.
The watch was still stopped, but I already knew why I no longer needed to make it work. It no longer reminded me of lost time. It reminded me that sometimes saving one’s life looks like running away.
Elene’s drawing hung beside it.
There was silence in the house.
This time that silence did not mean emptiness.
It was freedom.
I put the watch on the windowsill, opened the door, and let in the cold sea air.
For the first time, the stopped watch showed me the correct time.
Missed the beginning?
