That same afternoon we went to my parents’. I hadn’t been to their house in years. The same two-story cottage on the outskirts of the city with a neat lawn and a white fence. The same house where I once baked muffins with Mom, where Dad taught me to ride a bike until he started brushing off my calls. Where Katya threw a party when I moved out and threw my boxes of books onto the lawn because they were in the way of her friends.
Ivan Petrovich rang the doorbell. Dad opened it, his face a mixture of irritation and surprise. Seeing us both, he froze, his hand freezing on the door handle.
— We need to talk, — Grandfather said, his voice hard as granite.
— I’m busy, — Dad grumbled, but Ivan Petrovich interrupted:
— Sit down.
He didn’t raise his voice, but there was something in his tone that made even Dad obey. He stepped back, letting us into the house. Mom stood in the doorway of the living room, her eyes darting from me to Grandfather. Katya peered from the stairs, her hair in a messy bun, but her eyes glinting with curiosity like a cat scenting prey.
We sat in the living room, on the sofa I remembered from childhood. It was still just as soft, but now seemed alien. Ivan Petrovich placed the folder with documents on the coffee table. Dad didn’t even look at it, his hands clasped, gaze fixed on the floor. Grandfather opened the folder and began:
— You told me Inna lives in the apartment I bought for her. Seven million—my savings that I accumulated for years. But the money didn’t reach her. You took it. Hid it in your account. And lied to me and your daughter.
Dad chuckled nervously, his fingers drumming on his knee.
— Father, you’re blowing everything out of proportion. I…
— She lives in a semi-basement! — Grandfather barked, and his voice made everyone freeze. Even Katya, standing on the stairs, froze, her phone lowering. — Eats on the floor, works two jobs to pay for that hole. And you hid her money to keep it for yourself.
— I was holding it for her future, — Dad began, his voice tense, but I saw him trying to wiggle out of it. — Inna wasn’t ready for such responsibility. I wanted her to learn to appreciate…
— Don’t, — I interrupted, and my voice was sharp as a knife. — Don’t lie. You said I was lazy, that I didn’t deserve help. You made me feel like I was worth nothing. Yet you held my money, my chances, my life in your account. You didn’t spend it, but didn’t give it either. Why?
Mom whispered, her voice trembling:
— Sergey, say it’s not true.
Dad was silent. His jaw clenched, eyes darting around the room, but he didn’t look at me or Grandfather. Ivan Petrovich pushed the papers toward him:
— I spoke with a lawyer. We can sue. But you will return every penny. And explain yourself to the family at the next lunch. Stop hiding behind your excuses.
Dad clenched his jaws but didn’t answer. Ivan Petrovich turned to me, his gaze softening.
— You are moving in with me next week. I already called a realtor. We’ll find you a proper place. Don’t argue.
I looked at Dad. The one who said I would never cope without him now looked small, shrinking under the weight of the truth. I didn’t feel victory. I felt freedom, and that was better.
The next Sunday lunch was at the same restaurant, at the same table, but everything had changed. I sat next to Ivan Petrovich, at the head of the table. His hand lightly touched mine while we waited for the others. Dad entered, and I barely recognized him: he looked older, his shoulders slumped, and the usual self-confidence with which he always carried himself had evaporated. Mom stuck close to him, her lips pressed together, and her eyes red as if she had been crying all night. Katya wore dark glasses as if wanting to hide from what was happening, but her fingers nervously fiddled with the edge of her sweater.
Ivan Petrovich stood up, not letting anyone start chatting about the weather or the menu. His figure, despite his age, seemed majestic, and his voice rang through the hall, making the waiter freeze with a coffee pot in his hands.
— I will be brief, — he said, and his words were sharp as a blade. — I gathered you because last week I learned of an injustice committed in my name. Four years ago I sent money, my savings, to help Inna start adult life. I was told she received it. That she is thriving. That was a lie…
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