“You can’t even walk!” The man said with a sneer, looking down at her from above, mockery on his lips.
“Why are you here? Don’t you understand? Your life is over. I… I have a new life.”
“Do you want me to rewrite it in a dramatic, literary, cinematic, or some other specific style?”
“Finally, something is right!”
Elena didn’t answer.
She just looked at them.
Both of them.
He: restless, sweating, his shirt collar curled like his conscience.
She: perfect, serene, with the coldness of a soulless hospital waiting room.
“So… why are you here?” Elena finally asked, her voice emotionless, flat like a pulseless electrocardiogram.
“I think it’s best to tell you directly… before you hear it from someone else.” “We’re moving.
To the apartment.
Your apartment.
Well… the apartment used to be ours, but… I can’t anymore…” He gestured vaguely to his feet, as if that explained everything.
Elena reached for a thin file on the table, ready, waiting for this moment.
“Here it is,” she said calmly, handing it to him.
“Everything’s inside.”
Will.
Transferring ownership.
They needed a place to start.
I…I’m done.”
“You’re giving us the house?” he asked, confused.
“Just like that?” the landlady added, not taking another step forward.
“Yes. It’s hers.
I have other things to do.”
He laughed, with a look of arrogance that cracked and turned to fear.
“Other things? You? You can’t even walk!”
Elena closed her eyes.
Just for a second.
And when she opened them again, her gaze was steady, serene. There was no anger. Just the stark truth.
Then, with slow movements, she pulled the blanket off her thighs, untied the cane, and sat up.
One step.
Another step.
The sound was faint, but each step was heavier than any words that had been spoken up to that point.
He froze. She—the other person—her mouth was open, unable to express her surprise.
“I was in an accident, not a life sentence,” Elena said, unhurriedly.
“But it doesn’t matter now.”
“How can you say that?” he stammered.
“But the doctors… you said…”
“You know what’s best for you.
I just need time.
And rest.
And stay away from you.
And you gave me all that. Inadvertently.”
She walked to the door. Before she left, she turned back one last time.
Her voice was clear, firm, like a bell in the silence:
“You took my home.
I took your freedom.”
“What?” her lover exclaimed, a little panicked.
“What do you mean?” he asked, but his voice was shaking.
Elena smiled, forced.
“The file. Read it carefully.
Especially… the last page.”
And then, Elena left the room.
Her steps were slow, but sure.
Behind her, the silence didn’t fall: it exploded. Like a silent bomb that made only noise in their minds.
The man opened the file with trembling hands. He turned a page. Then another. When he reached the last page, his face was pale.
His mouth moved, but no sound came out.
There, in the last paragraph, it said:
“According to the terms of the attachment, the transfer of ownership is only effective if the new owner accepts sole custody of a child born out of an affair.”
He looked up. His eyes met hers.
“You… you didn’t say anything about a child.”
She lowered her eyes. She swallowed.
“Because…” she whispered, “…it’s not yours.”
A single sound pierced the air.
The dry, steady tapping of Elena’s walking stick, retreated.
