Marit had always known that life was no fairy tale. She had learned that at seven years old, when her father came home from the factory, sat down at the kitchen table and said, “Kind, mama is very ill. From now on, you and I will carry her through. ” And they did.
Five years of chemotherapy, endless hospital stays, hope and disappointment. Her mother survived, but she was permanently weakened. Her heart had not come through the heavy medication unscathed. Marit never complained.
She did not really know how to complain. Her father, Anska, a former master mechanic who had spent his whole life in a large automobile plant, had burned one simple truth into her. When you fall, get back up. When it hurts, hold on.
When someone wrongs you, I will tell you this, but never whine. And Marit never whined. After school she went to a state technical college to study food technology. Not because it was her dream, but because there was a dormitory and she did not want to be a burden on her parents.
She studied hard, graduated with distinction and found a job in the large bakery Kornehre as shift leader in production. The work was hard. Night shifts, the heat at the ovens, constant quality control. But the pay was good and, above all, secure.
At a time when one company after another was closing and people had to wait months for their wages, that was the most valuable thing. She met Garion almost by chance. She was twenty-seven and had almost resigned herself to the idea of never marrying. It was not as if there had been no suitors.
She knew she was attractive and there had certainly been offers. But it never really fit. One had been married and had forgotten to mention it. Another drank so much that she called him a taxi after their first dinner and blocked his number.
The third was good-natured and friendly, but so terribly boring that Marit fell asleep in the middle of his stories about his stamp collection. And then Garion appeared. He was standing at the factory gate, tall, with dark hair, an expensive coat and a bouquet of white roses. At first Marit thought there must be a mistake.
He was surely there for the wife of a colleague. But he looked directly at her. He came towards her, handed her the flowers and said, “I am Garion. I work at the city administration.
I saw you a week ago in the office when the documents were submitted for review. I could not forget you. Would you have dinner with me? ” Marit agreed.
What else was she supposed to do? An attractive man with a steady job, good manners, no drinking problem, not married and not boring. At least that was how it seemed. The first six months were like a film.
Garion took her to fine restaurants, gave her gifts, introduced her to his friends. He was attentive, loving and said beautiful things. His mother, Gerlinde, kissed Marit on both cheeks at their first meeting and called her little daughter. Marit melted.
She had no children of her own and this maternal affection, even from a stranger, warmed her soul. After eight months Garion proposed. The ring was modest. At that time he was still early in his career in the administration and did not earn much.
But Marit did not care. She looked at this man and thought, here it is, happiness, finally it is here. The wedding was simple, without much luxury. Marit wanted no unnecessary expenses.
Her parents could barely keep their heads above water. Garion did not insist. He said feelings were what mattered, not pomp. Gerlinde pursed her lips but stayed silent.
Marit paid no attention to that at the time. That was a mistake. The newlyweds first lived in a small one-room rental on the edge of the city. Marit worked double shifts and saved money for the down payment on their own apartment.
Garion got a post at the municipal utility company, a modest position but with prospects. He also saved, but not as ambitiously as Marit. He liked to dress well, drive a newer car and buy drinks for friends in bars. But Marit did not resent him for it.
A man has to look presentable, especially when he works with people. She understood. Two years later they had the money for the down payment. A three-room apartment in a new building on the seventh floor with a view over the city park.
Marit still remembered the day they first walked into the empty rooms with white walls and the smell of fresh plaster. She stood at the window, looked down at the trees and cried from happiness. Her own apartment. Finally her own.
The mortgage was taken out in both their names. Marit insisted. It was only fair. They both paid equal shares, even though her salary at the bakery was lower than Garion’s.
But she took on extra shifts, worked weekends and saved wherever she could. Five years later they paid off the mortgage early. Five years without holidays, without new clothes, without going to the cinema. But it had been worth it.
At least that was what she thought. The first warning sign came when the mortgage was paid off. Marit suggested celebrating in a small circle, with the family, a cake, inviting the parents. Garion pulled a face.
“What do I want with your parents? ” he asked, without looking up from his phone. “Your mother only moans about her health and your father just sits there and says nothing. Boring.
Let us celebrate with my mother instead. At least she can cook. ” Marit swallowed the insult. It was the first time in seven years of marriage that Garion had so openly humiliated her family, but she put it down to exhaustion.
He worked a lot and had recently been promoted to deputy department head. Stress, nerves, it happens. But that was only the beginning. Gerlinde started visiting more and more often.
First just at weekends, then for a week, then two. She criticised everything, how Marit cooked, how she cleaned, how she dressed, how she spoke. “My God, Marit, is that how you go to work? ” she said, looking at the factory work clothes.
“You look like a vagabond. No wonder Garion hardly looks at you anymore. ” Marit held on. A mother-in-law is just a mother-in-law.
You have to learn to get along with her. She remembered how her own mother had endured the criticism of the paternal grandmother for years and thought everyone goes through this, it is normal. But one day Gerlinde crossed the line. It happened eight years into the marriage.
Marit’s mother, Almut, had worsened considerably after another mild stroke. Living alone was difficult for her and Marit’s father still worked. At sixty-three he had taken a job as a night watchman at a parking lot just to get by. The pension was not enough even for medication.
Marit suggested taking her mother in for a while until she recovered. Garion shrugged. “Fine, as long as she does not bother me. ” Marit was relieved.
She had expected a scandal, but instead she received almost grudging approval. Almut moved into the small room that had previously been Garion’s study. She tried to be invisible, prepared the food while Marit was at work, cleaned, watered the flowers, never complained and never asked for anything. Marit looked at her and her heart clenched.
Her mother had aged so much in recent years, thin, pale, hands shaking. But she was alive. That was what mattered. Gerlinde appeared a week after Almut moved in, unannounced as always.
She opened the door with her own key. Garion had given it to her long ago. She froze on the threshold. “What is this?
” Her voice trembled with indignation. “Garion, why is this woman in my room? ” Marit, just back from a night shift, came out of the bedroom. “Gerlinde, this is my mother.
She will stay with us temporarily until she is well again. ” “Temporarily? ” The mother-in-law turned red with rage. “She will stay here forever.
I know these cripples. They crawl in like vermin and you never get rid of them. Garion, do you hear what is going on here? ” Garion came out of the bathroom, drying his hands.
“Mama, calm down. It is only for a while. ” “Only for a while. I come to visit my son and there is a strange old woman in my room.
Where am I supposed to sleep? On the floor? ” Marit clenched her fists. Strange old woman.
That was what the mother-in-law had called her mother. “Gerlinde,” Marit said quietly but firmly. “This apartment belongs to Garion and me. My mother has the right to be here.
You can stay at a hotel. There are enough in the city. ”
The silence in the hallway was deafening. Gerlinde stared at Marit as if she had been slapped in the face.
Garion stood motionless. “What did you say? ” the mother-in-law whispered. “You are throwing me out of my son’s apartment?
” “No, I am not throwing you out. I am suggesting an alternative. There is only one free room and my mother lives in it. If that does not suit you, there are other options.
” Gerlinde turned to her son. “Garion, do you hear this? Are you going to let her speak to me like that? ” Garion said nothing.
He looked from his mother to his wife, and Marit saw him hesitate. He had been a mama’s boy his whole life. She had known it, but she had always looked away. Now he had to choose a side.
He chose. “Marit,” he said with a cold voice. “Apologise to Mama. ” “Why?
” “Because of your rudeness. Mama came to visit and you throw her out. ” Marit felt something break inside her. A small crack that would later become an abyss.
“I will not apologise,” she said. “My mother is ill. She needs care. If your mother cannot accept that, that is her problem, not mine.
” She turned around, went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Her heart was beating so hard it seemed ready to burst out of her chest. Through the wall she heard Gerlinde sobbing, complaining about ungrateful daughters-in-law and moaning about how she had sacrificed the best years of her life for her son. She heard Garion calming her down and promising to take care of it.
That night Garion did not come to the bedroom. He slept on the sofa in the living room next to his mother, who had demonstratively made herself comfortable in an armchair and refused the bed that Almut had offered her. In the morning Gerlinde disappeared without a word of farewell or explanation. She simply packed her things and called a taxi.
Marit heard the apartment door close and breathed a sigh of relief. But she rejoiced too soon. From that day on, Garion changed. He became cold and distant.
At dinner he no longer spoke to Marit. Her concerns no longer interested him. He came home late and left early. On weekends he disappeared for “errands” without explaining what kind.
Marit tried to talk. Several times she sat down opposite him and asked, “Garion, what is going on? Why are you behaving like this? ” He waved her off.
“All fine. Just tired. Lots of work. ” But Marit could see it was not work.
It was the fact that she had dared to contradict his mother, that she had defended her own family. And Garion did not forgive her for that. A month passed, then two. Gerlinde no longer came, but she called her son every day.
Marit heard him talking to her, softly and tenderly, in a tone he had not used with his wife for a long time. Sometimes she caught fragments. “Yes, Mama, I understand. No, she has not changed.
Of course I love you more than anyone. ” Marit stayed silent. She hoped Garion would come to his senses, that everything would return to normal. She believed in her marriage, despite everything.
And then something happened that turned everything upside down. It was a perfectly normal Tuesday. Marit had worked the night shift and came home around seven in the morning. Her mother was still asleep.
The doctor had prescribed new tablets that made her sleepy and weak. Garion had already left for work. On the kitchen table lay a note. Coming home late.
Do not wait for me. Marit shrugged and went to shower. Afterwards she decided to tidy up a little, wipe the dust, vacuum. She entered the room that was now her mother’s.
Almut was sleeping peacefully under a blanket. Marit silently wiped the windowsill, walked to the wardrobe and saw it. On the top shelf of the wardrobe, behind a stack of old magazines, lay a folder. A blue plastic folder that had not been there before.
Out of sheer curiosity, Marit took it down and opened it. Documents, many documents. Bank statements, contracts, printouts from a property portal. Marit started reading, and the more she read, the more her hands trembled.
They were documents about the purchase of an apartment, a two-room apartment in a new development on the other side of the city. Buyer: Gerlinde Arnt. Purchase price: 148,000 euros. Marit turned the page.
The next document was a statement from their joint savings account, the account where she and Garion had saved money for years. For hard times, Garion had always said. For the future of their children, Marit had dreamed. The account had 2,000 euros left.
The statement was from the previous month and next to the amount was the note: cash withdrawal, 52,000 euros. All their savings. Everything they had put together in ten years. Marit sank onto the edge of her mother’s bed.
Her legs would not carry her. Her mind was empty and only one thought hammered against her temples like a trapped bird. He stole the money. He stole our money and bought his mother an apartment.
Almut woke at the noise. “Marit, what is wrong? You are so pale. ” “Nothing, Mama.
Go back to sleep. Everything is fine. ” But nothing was fine. Marit sat in the kitchen until evening.
She could not eat, she could not sleep. She just stared at those documents and tried to understand how a person she had lived with for ten years could do this to her without a single conversation, without explanations. He had simply taken everything and disappeared. When Garion came home, she was waiting for him in the hallway.
“We need to talk,” she said and held out the folder. Garion looked at the documents. His face did not change. Not a shadow of remorse, not a spark of shame.
“Where did you find that? ” “What does it matter where? You stole our money. You bought your mother an apartment.
With my money. ” “Your money? ” He smiled condescendingly. “And who earns more here, you or me?
Who brings most of the money home? Me, Marit. And you with your bakery? That is pocket money, nothing more.
” “It was our money. We saved it together. ” “It was mine. ” Garion took off his coat and hung it on the rack.
“Marit, stop living in a fairy tale. My mother was left without an apartment. Her ex-husband threw her out after the divorce. I had to help her.
That is my duty. ” “And you could not have asked me? ” “Asked you? So you could make a scene and say no?
No, thank you. I did what I thought was necessary. ” Marit looked at this man and did not recognise him. Where was the Garion who had waited for her at the factory gate with roses, who spoke beautiful words and promised to love her forever?
In front of her stood a cold stranger who looked at her as if she did not exist. “I will file for divorce,” she said. Garion shrugged. “Do that.
But bear in mind, the apartment is in my name. ” He pulled a folded sheet from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Gift deed. You transferred your share to me three weeks ago.
Here is your signature. ”
Marit tore the document out of his hand. It was a notarised contract in which she allegedly relinquished her share of the apartment to her husband free of charge. The date: 23 September.
The signature underneath was unmistakably hers. She knew every flourish of her own name. But on 23 September she had worked two days straight. There had been an accident in the factory.
The main conveyor belt had snapped. There was no way she could have been at the notary. “This is a forgery,” she whispered. “You forged my signature.
” “Prove it first,” Garion smiled. “An expert will confirm the signature is genuine. I came prepared, you know. ” And then Marit remembered.
In the last six months Garion had constantly asked her to sign all kinds of papers. Receipts for utility bills, delivery notes for his parcels, applications to the property management. She had signed without looking. She had trusted her husband and he, it turned out, had collected samples of her signature and practised copying them.
“You are scum,” she said quietly. “I am a practical man,” he replied and put the document back. “And you, Marit, you are simply too naive. You have always been.
But no matter, life will teach you. ” He walked past her into the room and closed the door. Marit stood in the hallway, unable to move. The world she had built for herself over ten years collapsed in an instant.
Her money had been stolen. Her apartment had been stolen. Her faith in people had been stolen. But she did not cry.
No. Instead of tears, a cold, heavy anger rose in her, the same anger her father had spoken of. When someone strikes you, strike back. But strike with your mind.
She would go to the police. She would find lawyers. She would prove the signature was forged. She would not allow this wretch and his mother to take everything she had worked for.
But first she had to know who had notarised the contract. The notary’s name was on the document. Friederike Hempel. The name sounded familiar.
She searched her memory and remembered. At the wedding nine years ago, Gerlinde had introduced her relatives. “And this is my niece, Friederike. She is a lawyer.
Soon she will be a notary. Very clever, just like me. ” The mother-in-law’s niece. Everything stayed in the family.
A family business. Marit smiled ironically. They thought they had thought of everything. They had cornered her and left no way out.
But there was one thing they did not know. An Arnt does not give up. She picked up the phone and called her father. “Papa, hello, I need your help.
Urgently. ” Anska arrived an hour later. He listened to his daughter in silence, without interrupting. His face hardened with every word.
His fists clenched. “I will kill that bastard,” he said when Marit had finished. “No, you must not. Then you would go to prison and they would have won.
I have to act according to the law. ” “According to the law. ” Her father smiled bitterly. “They already broke the law a long time ago.
The documents are forged. The notary is their relative. How are you going to prove that? ” “I do not know yet.
But I will find out. ” They sat in the kitchen until late at night, discussing options. Her father suggested drastic methods, punching Garion in the face, driving to the mother-in-law and causing a scandal. Marit rejected that.
She needed evidence, not emotions. The next morning she went to the police and filed a report for fraud and forgery of documents. The duty officer took the papers with a sour face, muttered something about family matters that should be settled among themselves and sent her away. Marit did not give up.
She made an appointment with one lawyer, then a second, then a third. They all said the same thing. Handwriting analysis is complicated. If the signature is well done, proving the forgery is almost impossible.
The process would be long and expensive, and Marit had no money for a long process. All her savings had been stolen by her husband. The salary from the bakery barely covered living expenses and her mother’s medication. She was trapped.
Garion felt like the victor. He walked around the apartment as if it belonged to him alone. He spoke to Marit with condescension, without hiding his contempt. Every day he called his mother and reported, “Everything is going according to plan.
Soon we will throw her and her little mother out. ” Marit heard these conversations. He no longer even hid it. He wanted her to know she had lost.
But Marit did not feel defeated. She felt like a cornered predator preparing for the final spring. And then she did something Garion had not expected. One evening, while her husband was in the shower, Marit went into his study.
Her mother had been moved to the former marital bedroom and Marit slept on the sofa in the living room. Garion did not object. He did not care. On the desk stood his laptop.
Marit knew the password and he had never changed it, convinced that his wife had nothing to hide from him anyway. She opened his email account. What she found made her heart race. Correspondence with the notary Friederike Hempel.
Dozens of emails from the last six months, discussions about the plan, the amount of the bribes, the deadlines, and most importantly, scans of documents, drafts of the gift deed, samples of Marit’s signature that Garion had collected for months, and the final version with a note from Friederike. Everything is ready, carry it out. With trembling hands, Marit took screenshots. Ten, twenty, thirty.
She sent them to her own email address, then deleted the traces from the history. When Garion came out of the shower, she was already sitting on the sofa with a book. Her face was calm and composed. He walked past her without even looking at her.
Now she had evidence. Real, irrefutable evidence that the signature was a forgery, that there had been a conspiracy, that she had been cheated. But Marit did not rush anything. She knew she had to wait for the right moment.
One false move and Garion would destroy the evidence. The emails, the files, everything. He was not stupid. He would understand she had been snooping in his computer.
She decided to wait and watch. A week passed, then two. Marit continued to go to work, care for her mother and pretend she had resigned herself to defeat. Garion became careless.
He started inviting friends over, throwing parties, spending money with both hands. The apartment for his mother was almost finished, only the renovation work was missing. And then Gerlinde called and announced that she was coming. “For good,” Garion said at dinner without looking at Marit.
“Mama will live here until her apartment is ready. ” “And your mother? ” “It is time for her to go. ” “Where?
” Marit asked calmly. “That is not my problem. To your father. To a nursing home.
To the street. I do not care. I am the owner of this apartment and I decide who lives here. ” Marit nodded silently and continued eating.
Inside her, everything was boiling, but she kept her composure. It was not yet the right moment. Gerlinde arrived three days later with suitcases and boxes. She entered the apartment like a conqueror and immediately headed for the room where Almut lived.
“This is my room now,” she announced. “Pack your things and get out. I am giving you one hour. ” Almut, who was just taking her medication, flinched and clutched her chest.
Marit was at work. It was her last night shift before a few days off. She had deliberately arranged that with the plant management so she could be at home in the coming days. She knew the mother-in-law was coming and she had prepared for it, but she had not expected everything to happen so fast.
Her phone rang at five in the morning. Her mother’s number appeared on the screen. “Marit. ” Almut’s voice trembled.
“Come quickly. They are throwing me out. ” The call broke off. Marit dropped everything and raced home.
Twenty minutes in a taxi felt like an eternity. She called her mother, then Garion, even the mother-in-law. No one answered. By the time she stormed into the stairwell, her heart was beating so wildly she thought it would stop.
She ran up to the seventh floor, completely out of breath, and saw it. Her mother’s belongings were scattered on the landing. A bag with clothes. A box of medicines.
An old photo album. The apartment door stood wide open. Screams came from inside. Marit stepped over the threshold and froze.
What she saw burned itself into her memory forever. Her mother-in-law was dragging her mother by the hair towards the exit. Almut, in an old nightgown and barefoot, was trying to hold on to the door frame, but her fingers slipped away. Her face was contorted with pain and terror.
Tears ran down her cheeks. And Garion stood nearby, kicking his mother’s things through the hallway. “Get out of here,” he shouted in a voice cracked with rage. “From now on my mother lives here and that is final.
We have had enough of the two of you. ” Gerlinde pulled so hard at Almut that she cried out. A tuft of grey hair remained in the mother-in-law’s hand. “Come on, move.
Go find yourself a home. Enough of living at other people’s expense. It is time to step down. ”
Marit stood on the threshold and time seemed to slow down.
She saw every detail of this monstrous scene. The mother-in-law’s face distorted with malice. Her husband’s wild eyes. Her mother’s trembling hands trying to cover the torn neckline of her nightgown.
Something clicked inside her. The cold calculation she had cultivated over the past weeks gave way to something old and primal. The instinct to protect her own. But Marit did not throw herself at her mother-in-law.
No. Her father had taught her, strike with your mind. Silently she stepped back onto the landing, got out her key and slammed the apartment door with full force. The bolt snapped into place.
She turned the key twice and locked them all inside. With trembling hands she dialled her father’s number. Three rings felt like an eternity. “Kind?
” Anska’s voice sounded sleepy. “What is wrong? It is six in the morning. ” “Papa.
” Marit spoke quietly and firmly, although everything inside her was boiling. “Come here. Urgently. They are beating Mama.
They are throwing her out on the street. ” The pause lasted barely a second. “I am on my way. ” The call ended.
Marit leaned her back against the cold wall of the stairwell. Behind the door there were dull thuds. Garion was hammering on the metal with his fists and demanding she open. His voice became shrill.
“Open up immediately, do you hear me? This is my apartment. I will report you. ” A neighbour from the sixth floor, an older lady in a dressing gown, looked out because of the noise.
She saw Marit, pale, with the phone in her hand. She heard the screams behind the door and silently closed her own. It was not her business. That was how it was here.
Anska lived about twenty minutes away by car. But at this early hour, with the streets empty, he was there in twelve minutes. Marit heard the front door below slam shut and heavy footsteps echo in the stairwell. Her father appeared on the landing, a jacket hastily thrown over a t-shirt, unshaven, with red eyes from lack of sleep.
But in those eyes burned something that made Marit breathe easier. “Open,” he said briefly. Marit turned the key. The door flew open and Garion, who was standing right behind it, ready to lunge at his wife, suddenly found himself face to face with his father-in-law.
He froze for a split second. That was enough. Anska wasted no time on words. He caught his son-in-law’s raised arm and slammed him against the hallway wall with a short, precise movement.
The sound of impact was dull and final. Garion slumped to the floor, gasping for air like a fish. Gerlinde, who was still holding Almut by the hair, screamed and jumped back, but not fast enough. Anska walked up to her, grabbed her by the collar of her expensive cashmere coat, she had not even had time to take it off, and hurled her with force towards the kitchen.
The mother-in-law hit her hip against the corner of a cupboard, flailed her arms and fell to the floor. Immediately she began to scream loudly and theatrically for the whole building. “They are killing me, good people, help me. They are attacking a pensioner.
My heart, my heart! Call the police. ” She clutched her chest, rolled her eyes and writhed on the floor, faking a heart attack. Marit watched this performance with disgust and amazement.
Even now, her mother-in-law was only thinking of portraying herself as the victim. Meanwhile Garion had come to. He got up, leaning on the wall, his face contorted with rage. “You,” he rasped, pointing at his father-in-law.
“You will pay for this. This is assault. I am calling the police. ” He pulled out his phone and began dialling with trembling hands.
Marit ran to her mother. Almut was sitting on the floor, pressing a crumpled towel that she had grabbed from a chair against her chest. She was shaking violently, her lips had turned blue, her eyes were empty. “Mama.
” Marit embraced her and felt her mother’s heart racing, irregular and stumbling. “Mama, it is all right. I am here. Papa is here.
No one will ever hurt you again. ” Almut did not answer. She just stared through her daughter as if she did not see her, and silently moved her lips. “She needs an ambulance,” Marit said to her father.
Anska nodded and got out his phone, but Garion was already shouting into his. “Police, emergency. I have been attacked. Serious injuries.
Come quickly. There are criminals here. ” When Gerlinde heard that, she redoubled her efforts. She no longer just whimpered, she howled at the top of her voice, complaining about broken ribs, bruised kidneys and a destroyed heart.
In between, she threw appreciative glances at her son, as if to say, well done, son. That is how it is done. The sirens sounded with alarming speed. First the police, then the ambulance.
Hasty footsteps in the stairwell, loud voices, banging on the already open door. Two police officers entered the apartment, a young commissioner with a tired face and an older sergeant. Behind them the rescue team, an emergency doctor and a paramedic with their bags. The paramedics split up immediately.
One took care of Almut, whom Marit was still holding on the floor. The other bent over Gerlinde, sighing, while she continued her performance. “So, what do we have here? ” The commissioner surveyed the scene with his eyes, the scattered belongings, the overturned table, the dent in the wall where Gerion had made contact with the concrete.
“Who can explain this? ” Garion stepped forward. He had already pulled himself together, smoothed his torn t-shirt and put on a suffering expression. “Officer,” he began in a pathetic voice.
“This is my father-in-law,” he pointed at Anska. “He broke into my apartment and attacked my elderly mother and me for no reason. He just came in and started hitting us. Look what he did to me.
” Garion raised his t-shirt and showed a red mark on his side. “These are injuries. I demand that he be arrested. ” Gerlinde took over the next part.
“My son is telling the truth,” she sobbed, clutching the sergeant’s sleeve. “This bandit almost killed me. I am an older woman. I have high blood pressure and he threw me against the wall.
Arrest him, officer. Arrest him. ” The commissioner turned to Marit and Anska. “Your version.
” Marit stood up and left her mother in the care of the doctor. “This apartment belongs to me,” she said, making an effort to speak calmly. “To me and my husband. I came home from work and found them dragging my sick mother out of the apartment.
By the hair. Look here. ” She pointed at Almut. “My mother has a bald spot on her head where they ripped out her hair.
” The doctor who was examining Almut nodded. “I can confirm that. There are signs of violent hair loss as well as bruises on the arms indicating strong gripping, and the beginning of a hypertensive emergency. Blood pressure 200 over 120.
She must go to hospital. ”
The commissioner frowned. “So they threw out your mother and you called your father to help. ” “Yes.
My father protected my mother from these people. ” “Lies! ” Garion shouted. “All lies.
We only asked her mother to free the room and she called this thug so he could beat us up. ” “Asked? ” Marit gasped with indignation. “Do you call that asking?
You kicked her things and your mother dragged her along the floor by her hair. ” The commissioner raised his hand. “Quiet. We will sort this out.
” He took out a tablet. “Who has the ownership documents for the apartment? ” Garion smiled triumphantly. “I do.
It is my property. I can show you the land register excerpt. ” He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a folded sheet. Marit felt a cold chill.
She knew what was on that paper, but hearing it officially in front of the police was like a blow to the stomach. The commissioner took the document, checked it and compared it with the database on his tablet. His face, which had been neutral until then, hardened. “Mrs Arnt,” he said in a now official and cool tone.
“According to the land register, the sole owner of this apartment is Garion Arnt. The basis is a gift deed registered three weeks ago. ” “That is a forgery! ” Marit cried.
“I signed nothing. He stole my signature. ” The commissioner looked at her without a trace of sympathy. “The contract was notarised in due form.
If you have doubts about its authenticity, you must take it to the civil court. For now,” he paused, “for now you are unlawfully on someone else’s property without the owner’s permission. ”
“Without permission? I live here.
This is my home. ” “It once was,” Garion interjected with a disgusting smile. “Now it belongs to me and I have not given you permission to be here. Neither you, nor your mother, nor your father, that criminal.
” Anska took a step towards his son-in-law, but Marit held him by the arm. “Papa, no. That is exactly what they want. ” The commissioner nodded to the sergeant.
“Take down their details. Assault to the detriment of the apartment owner and coercion. ” Then he turned to Anska. “Mr Arnt, you will have to come to the station with us.
” “He was defending his wife! ” Marit shouted. “We will sort that out at the station. ” Gerlinde smiled triumphantly.
She was already standing up again, miraculously healed of all her injuries, and was fixing her hair in the hallway mirror. The emergency doctor stepped up to the commissioner. “We have to take the older woman to hospital. Her condition is critical.
There is a risk of a stroke. ” “Take her away. ” The paramedics brought a stretcher. Almut was so weak she could not walk alone.
They laid her on it and covered her with a blanket. Marit wanted to go with her, but the commissioner shook his head. “You are coming to the station too. You have to give a statement.
” “But my mother…” “The hospital will take care of her. You are needed here. ”
They took Almut away. The last thing Marit saw were her mother’s eyes full of fear and incomprehension as the lift doors closed.
At the police station it smelled of old coffee, cleaning products and hopelessness. Marit and her father were questioned in separate rooms, long and meticulously, always with the same questions. Marit told everything. The stolen money, the forged contract, the correspondence she had found on her husband’s computer.
The investigator, a stout man with a dull look, listened to her without much interest. “So you claim your husband forged your signature on the gift deed. ” “Yes. I can prove it.
I have screenshots of his correspondence with the notary. ” “Screenshots? ” The investigator snorted. “That is unauthorised access to third-party communication.
Do you know what that means? ” Marit froze. “What? ” “Violation of the secrecy of correspondence and data theft.
That can carry a sentence of up to two years. ” “But he stole my apartment! ” “Maybe. Or maybe not.
A judge will decide. At the moment we have a notarised document with your signature and your husband’s report of assault. ” Marit felt the ground being pulled out from under her feet. They had thought of everything.
Absolutely everything. “My father defended my mother,” she repeated for the hundredth time. “They beat her. They dragged her out of the apartment by her hair.
” “That is what you say. And your mother, who is now in hospital, cannot testify. On the other hand, your husband and his mother have consistent versions. They say they only asked your mother to vacate the room, whereupon she caused a scandal and called for reinforcements.
” “That is a lie. ” “Maybe. But they have a witness. ” “What witness?
” “The neighbour from the sixth floor. She heard the screams and saw your father enter the building with clearly aggressive intent. ” Marit remembered the woman in the dressing gown who had briefly looked out and then disappeared again. She had testified against her.
The investigator closed the file. “Mrs Arnt, here is the situation. You can file a report for fraud concerning the apartment. We will accept it and forward it for review.
But I warn you, this will be a long process. Court hearings, appeals, a year, two years, maybe more, and without guarantees. ” “And my father? ” “Your father will be released for now with the condition that he does not leave the city.
But criminal proceedings for assault have been opened. If your husband and his mother do not withdraw their complaint, there will be a trial. And with the current evidence, he shrugged, the prospects are not good. ”
They left the station around noon.
The sun was shining with an almost mocking intensity on this black day. Marit squinted and could not believe that that very morning she had come home from work and thought about what to cook for dinner. Her father was silent. He took out a cigarette, he rarely smoked, only when he was very nervous, and took a deep drag.
“Forgive me, child,” he said finally. “I got you into this. ” “You defended Mama. ” “If you had not come, they would have thrown her out on the street.
” “And now they are throwing you and her out anyway and putting me in prison on top of that. ” Marit did not answer. He was right. They had lost on all fronts.
“Let’s go to the hospital,” she said. “I want to see Mama. ” Almut was in the cardiology ward in a five-bed room. A drip, a heart monitor, a pale face on the white pillow.
She was conscious but spoke with difficulty. Her tongue did not obey her properly after the blood pressure spike. “Marit,” she whispered when she saw her daughter. “Forgive me.
” “For what, Mama? ” “For everything. If I had not come, if I were not ill…” “Mama, stop. You are not to blame for anything.
They are. They alone. ” Almut closed her eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek.
“I thought Garion was good. I thought you were lucky. ” Marit pressed her mother’s hand. She wanted to scream, to bang against the wall, to burst into tears, but she could not.
She had no right. Her mother was at the end of her strength. Any further emotion could be the end of her. “Rest,” Marit said.
“I will sort everything out. I promise you. ” She left the room and leaned against the wall. Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
A message from Garion. “You have two days to collect your things. After that I will throw everything in the trash. And tell your father that if he withdraws his complaint and signs a paper saying everything happened voluntarily, I will withdraw mine.
Think about it. Prison or freedom? You have the choice. ”
Marit read the message twice.
Blackmail. Pure, shameless blackmail. Give up everything and I will not put your father in prison. She knew she should feel despair.
But instead, something else began to burn inside her. Cold, sharp as a blade. An anger that did not blind, but on the contrary sharpened all the senses. They think they have won.
They think they have cornered her. She will break and give up. They do not know who they are dealing with. Marit opened her email and found the message she had sent herself weeks ago.
Thirty-two screenshots of the correspondence between Garion and the notary. Evidence of the conspiracy. The ace up her sleeve that she had kept for the very last resort. The last resort had now come.
She dialled the number of the lawyer recommended to her at work. A man named Dr Zander, a specialist in complicated cases. “Dr Zander speaking. ” The voice was deep and calm.
“I need urgent advice. I have been robbed of my apartment by forging my signature. But I have evidence. ” “What kind of evidence?
” “The correspondence of my husband with the notary. Discussions about the plan, the deadlines, the payment. ” Pause. “That is interesting.
Come by. I will send you the address. ” Marit put the phone away and looked at her father, who was waiting at the hospital entrance. “Papa,” she said, “I know what to do.
But I need time. Two days. Can you take Mama in when she is discharged? ” “Of course.
And you? ” “I will fight. ” Anska looked at his daughter for a long time. Something that looked like pride flashed in his eyes.
“Just like your father,” he said. “Show them, child. ”
Dr Zander’s office was in the city centre in an old bourgeois house that had been converted into an office building. Marit climbed a creaking wooden staircase to the first floor and pushed open the heavy door.
Dr Zander was not what she had imagined. Not a slick city lawyer in an expensive suit, but an older man with a grey beard and a keen gaze who looked more like a professor or writer. “Sit down. ” He pointed to the armchair in front of the desk.
“Tell me everything from the beginning. ” Marit told him everything without hiding anything. The ten years of marriage, the apartment, the stolen money, the forged contract, the mother-in-law’s niece, the correspondence. Dr Zander listened silently and took notes in a notebook.
“Do you have the screenshots with you? ” “Yes. ” Marit took out her phone and showed him. Dr Zander spent a long time scrolling, zooming in and reading.
His face remained expressionless. “Interesting,” he said at last. “Very interesting. Your husband is a first-class idiot.
Excuse me, he left a digital trail. Emails, scans, data. He thought he was smarter than everyone else. In fact, he signed his own conviction.
” Dr Zander leaned back in his chair. “But there is a problem. ” “What? ” “These screenshots were obtained without his knowledge.
From a legal point of view, that is a violation of telecommunications secrecy. A judge could reject them as evidence. ” “Then they are useless. ” “I did not say they were useless.
I said there was a problem. And problems can be solved. ” He paused for a moment. “Tell me, does this notary, Friederike Hempel, know that you know about her involvement?
” “Yes. I went to her. I tried to get a confession out of her, but she threw me out. ” “That means she is alarmed.
” Dr Zander tapped his pen on the table. “But these people have a weakness. Fear. They fear the consequences more than they are greedy, if you apply the right pressure.
” “How? ” “I do not know yet. But I have an idea. ” He looked at her intently.
“Are you willing to take a risk? ” “What kind? ” “To risk everything on one card. If my plan works, you get the apartment back and your husband goes to prison.
If it does not, you might end up behind bars yourself. ” Marit thought for exactly three seconds. “I am ready. ” Dr Zander smiled for the first time since the conversation began.
“Then listen carefully. ”
The plan was as simple as it was dangerous. Dr Zander suggested using Friederike Hempel’s fear against her. “She is the niece of your mother-in-law,” he explained.
“She did it for the family, not for big money. Most likely she was paid poorly or not at all. They simply asked her for a favour among relatives. And that means, if it starts to smell like trouble, she will be the first to run to save her own skin.
” “But she already knows about the correspondence. She could have warned Garion. ” “Could she? Or maybe she has not had time yet.
Did you show her the screenshots or only mention them? ” “Only mentioned them. ” “Then she is not sure what you really have. She is afraid, but does not know of what exactly.
And uncertainty scares more than the truth. ” Dr Zander outlined the course of action. The first step: visit Friederike, but not with threats, with an offer. “Tell her that you are willing to forget her involvement if she testifies against your husband.
A full confession. And you will not mention her name to the prosecution. If she refuses, then plan B comes into play. But let us try the friendly way first.
” Marit left the office with a stack of papers and the feeling that for the first time in a long time she had hope again. Weak, fleeting, but still hope. There were still a few hours until the visit to Friederike. Marit decided to use the time to stop by the apartment and pick up documents that might still be there.
She arrived at the building around five in the afternoon. Lights were on in the windows. Garion or the mother-in-law were at home. It did not matter.
She still had the key and was still registered at this address. She went up to the seventh floor and unlocked the door. What she saw made her stop dead on the threshold. In the living room, sprawled on the sofa, the same sofa she and Garion had picked out together three years ago, sat a young woman, no older than twenty-five, with blonde-dyed hair, heavy make-up and long fingernails.
She was wearing a silk dressing gown. Marit’s dressing gown. A gift from her mother on her last birthday. The woman looked up and smiled.
“Ah, it is you. Garion said you might come by. Your things are in the hallway in sacks. You can take them.
” Marit stood motionless. Her brain refused to process the information. “Who are you? ” she finally managed.
The woman laughed. “I am Verena. Garion’s fiancée. Well, soon to be, as soon as you finally sign the divorce papers.
” From the bedroom, hers and Garion’s bedroom, her husband came out. He was wearing jogging trousers, his upper body bare, his hair still wet from the shower. When he saw Marit, he did not even flinch. “Ah, you.
Take your junk and get lost. And do not forget, tomorrow is the last day. After that I am throwing everything away. ”
Marit looked at this man with whom she had lived for ten years.
At this girl sitting on her sofa in her dressing gown in her apartment. And suddenly she understood. She understood everything. This had not been a spontaneous decision.
Garion had planned this for years. He had met a mistress, decided to start a new life and to do that he had to get rid of the old one. Marit, her mother, everything that tied him to the past. The apartment, the money, the forged signature.
It was not greed. It was clearing the table. “How long have you been with her? ” Marit asked in a calm voice.
“A year? Two? ” Garion shrugged. “Three, almost from the moment your little mother moved in here.
” Three years. For three years he had been lying to her, sleeping in the same bed, eating her food, letting her wash his shirts. And the whole time he had been planning how to rob her and throw her out on the street. Verena giggled.
“Do not take it so hard. I am sure you will find someone at your age, maybe a widower. ” Marit slowly turned to her. “Take off my dressing gown.
” “What? ” “The dressing gown. Take it off. It belongs to me.
” Verena jumped up, her face contorted with indignation. “Garion, she is threatening me! ” “Marit, do not make a scene here,” Garion said bored. “Take your sacks and go.
” “And your dressing gown is in the sack. I bought it for her. ” He was lying, Marit thought. He was lying without batting an eye, just as he had been lying all those years.
She silently went into the hallway. There were indeed three large bin bags there. Marit opened one. Her clothes lay inside, carelessly crumpled, mixed with underwear and some papers.
Everything had been stuffed in without love. She took out a folder with documents. Her certificates, medical records, old contracts. Then she found a box with her mother’s brooch, a family heirloom, the only valuable thing Almut had brought from home.
At the very bottom of the sack lay a photo. Marit and Garion on their wedding day. Young, happy, in love. Marit in a white dress, Garion in a suit, both smiling.
Marit looked at the photo for a long second, then carefully tore it in two and threw it back into the sack. “I will collect these sacks tomorrow,” she said as she left. “I will send someone. ” “As you wish,” came from the living room.
“And do not forget the report. Time is running out. ”
Marit closed the door behind her. The stairwell was cool and quiet.
She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Three years. Three years of a mistress. Three years of lies.
Well, that would only make it easier to destroy him. She took out her phone and wrote to Dr Zander. “New information. He has a mistress.
She lives in the apartment. Does that change anything? ” The answer came after a minute. “And how it changes things.
That is a motive. Come tomorrow morning. We have work to do. ” Marit put the phone away and began to descend the stairs.
Inside she felt empty and cold, but there was no more fear. Only determination. The next day a new round would begin and she had no intention of losing. The next morning dawned grey and damp.
Marit had hardly slept. She had tossed and turned on the narrow folding bed in her father’s apartment, playing the plan over and over again. By six she was already on her feet. At eight she was sitting in Dr Zander’s office.
The lawyer was drinking strong coffee and had a thick file on the table. “I have done some research,” he said without preamble. “Your husband is an interesting character. He works at the municipal utility company.
Deputy head. His official salary is 3,800 euros gross. Nevertheless, last year he bought a car for 45,000 euros, paid for the renovation of his mother’s apartment for almost 20,000 and regularly withdraws large sums in cash. Where does the money come from?
” “That is indeed the question. I have checked some connections. An acquaintance at the tax office helped. His department has been awarding contracts for landscape maintenance and city greening for three years.
Significant amounts, 200 to 300 thousand a year, and always the same contractor, a company called Ökogrün. ” “And what does that mean? ” Dr Zander smiled. “Ökogrün is registered under Verena’s name.
The same lady you saw yesterday in your dressing gown. ” Marit froze. The mistress. Same person.
“A classic scheme. Kickbacks through a shell company. Your husband pushes the contracts through, his girlfriend collects the money, and then they split it. There is only one small problem.
” “What? ” “That is a criminal offence. Misappropriation of public funds and serious fraud. That carries up to ten years in prison.
” Marit leaned back. Her head was spinning. “So he did not only steal from me, but from the state. ” “Exactly.
And that changes everything. Now we have a lever he does not expect. ” Dr Zander laid out the scheme. “The plan is as follows.
First we visit the notary Friederike Hempel. We offer her a deal. She testifies about the forgery of the signature and we do not mention her name in the report about the corruption. If she refuses, plan B comes into play.
” “Which is? ” “We go directly to the public prosecutor with your screenshots, with the information about the corruption scheme, with everything. Friederike will fall together with your husband. But you could also be prosecuted for illegal access to the emails.
” “A risk. Yes. ” Dr Zander nodded. “But without risk there is no victory.
You decide. ” Marit thought for a minute. Before her eyes appeared the face of her mother. Pale, frightened, with the bald spot where the mother-in-law had ripped out her hair.
The face of her father, tired, full of guilt because he had not been able to protect the family completely. And the face of Garion, satisfied, insolent, sure of his impunity. “We are going to Friederike,” she said. The notary’s office was on the outskirts, on the ground floor of an older residential building.
The sign looked a little faded. Marit pushed open the door and entered. The secretary, the same one as always with poison-pink fingernails, looked up. “Do you have an appointment?
” “No. But Mrs Hempel will see me. ” “And why should she? ” Marit laid Dr Zander’s business card on the counter.
“Tell her I am here with a lawyer and have an offer she would be wise not to refuse. ” The secretary snorted sceptically, but took the card. She disappeared behind the office door. A minute later she came back.
“Go through. ” Friederike Hempel sat behind her desk, clutching the armrests of her chair with both hands. She looked thinner than at their last meeting. Or perhaps she had simply shrunk with fear.
She had dark rings under her eyes. “What do you want? ” Her voice trembled. “I already told you I do not know anything, that I did not sign anything.
” Marit sat down opposite her without waiting for an invitation. Dr Zander remained standing at the door. A silent, imposing presence. “Friederike, let us be honest,” Marit said calmly, almost kindly.
“I know you notarised a forged contract. You know I know. The only question is what we do about it now. ” Silence.
Marit raised her hand. “I am not recording this. This is not a trap. I came to offer you a way out.
” Friederike was silent. A spark of hope appeared in her eyes. Weak, but visible. “What way out?
” “You make a statement. You tell how Garion came to you with the already prepared contract, how he asked you to notarise it without verifying the identity of the giver, whether he paid you or not. Those are details. In return, I will not mention your name in the report about the corruption.
” “What corruption? ” Marit pulled a printout from her bag, the same one Dr Zander had prepared in the morning. The scheme of Ökogrün. The contract amounts.
The names. “Your cousin does not only steal apartments. He is also divvying up the public budget through his girlfriend’s company. That is a serious crime, Friederike.
And once the investigation begins, and it will begin, the investigators will check everything, every contract, every document he has ever submitted. And they will find your notary office. And they will find that contract. And then you will fall with him, not as a witness, but as an accomplice.
” Friederike paled even more. The paper trembled in her hands. “That… that cannot be true. Garion would never…” “He could, and he did.
For three years. Do you think it is a coincidence that he is so sure of his impunity? Why he so calmly steals apartments and throws people out on the street? Because he has money.
A lot of money. And connections. And he thinks no one can touch him. ” Marit leaned forward.
“But he is wrong. I will catch him. The only question is whether you will fall with him or come out of this clean. ”
The silence in the office was dense, almost palpable.
Friederike stared at the printout and Marit could see the gears turning in her head. Fear fought against loyalty. The survival instinct fought against family ties. The instinct won.
“What do I have to do? ” Friederike whispered. Marit nodded to Dr Zander. He stepped forward and placed a voice recorder on the table.
“Start from the very beginning. When did Garion first come to you with this request? ” Friederike began to speak, first haltingly, then more confidently. She told how Garion had come to her six months earlier with a delicate request, how he had explained that he wanted to transfer the apartment to protect the assets from possible claims, how he had presented her with the contract already signed by his wife and asked her simply to put the stamp on it and not ask unnecessary questions.
“I asked him, ‘And where is the donor? ’ He said she was busy, could not come. That everything had been agreed and was voluntary. I believed him.
After all, he is family. Aunt Gerlinde had asked me to help. ” “So Gerlinde also knew? ” asked Dr Zander.
Friederike hesitated. “She called me the day before and said Garion would come, that family had to stick together. ” She paused. “That Garion’s wife had become insolent and wanted to take the apartment away, and they had to get ahead of it.
” Marit felt the anger rising inside her. So the mother-in-law was not just informed, she was the instigator. She had incited her son, found the executor, directed the entire operation. “Continue,” said Dr Zander matter-of-factly.
Friederike told everything. How she had noticed that the signature on the contract was too clean, too perfect, clearly not written in her presence. How she had turned a blind eye. How she had received an envelope of 500 euros for expenses afterwards.
How she had not been able to sleep at night because she knew what she had done. When she finished, the recorder showed forty minutes of audio. “And now in writing,” Dr Zander said and handed her some sheets. “The same thing, handwritten, with date and signature.
” Friederike took the pen. Her hand trembled, but she wrote line after line, page after page. When she was done, she leaned back and closed her eyes. “I am ruined,” she whispered.
“Aunt Gerlinde will kill me. ” “Aunt Gerlinde will soon be busy with her own problems,” Marit replied. “She will not have time for you. ”
They left the notary’s office with the statements in hand.
Dr Zander was satisfied. It showed in his eyes, even though his face remained motionless. “First phase complete,” he said as they got into the car. “Now to the public prosecutor.
Today, immediately, before your husband learns that Friederike has betrayed him. ” The building of the public prosecutor’s office was a grey concrete block with columns. Marit had never been there and felt uneasy in the bare corridors. Dr Zander led her through reception, made a phone call, filled out forms.
An hour later they were received by a public prosecutor. A young man with a sharp gaze. “Dr Zander. Long time no see.
What do you have for me? ” “A gift, colleague. A real gift. ” Dr Zander placed the file with the documents on the table.
“Real estate fraud, forgery of documents and corruption in a municipal enterprise. All converging on one person. ” The public prosecutor opened the file and read in silence, turning the pages. His eyebrows rose higher and higher.
“Garion Arnt. ” He looked at Marit. “Your husband. These are serious accusations.
Do you have evidence? ” Marit took out her phone and showed the screenshots. The public prosecutor noted the data and made copies. “This was obtained unlawfully,” he said.
“On its own, these screenshots are not evidence. But as a starting point for an investigation, they are useful. ” “And the notary’s statement, that is more significant. ” He read Friederike’s confession again.
“If she confirms this on record, we can open proceedings. ” “She will confirm it,” Dr Zander said confidently. “She is terrified. She will do anything to avoid prison.
” The public prosecutor nodded. “Good. I will accept the report. But I warn you, the procedure will be lengthy.
Examinations, hearings, months, perhaps more. ” “And the proceedings against my father? ” Marit asked. “They filed a complaint for assault.
” “We will review that. If your version is confirmed, that they did indeed attack your mother, then your father’s actions could be classified as emergency assistance. But that also has to be proven. ” Marit left the prosecutor’s office with mixed feelings.
On one hand, she had done everything in her power. On the other, it was only the beginning. Months of uncertainty lay ahead. Her phone vibrated.
A message from Garion. “The time is up. Your things are in the rubbish container. And tell your father to prepare for the trial.
” Marit read the message and smiled ironically. He did not know yet. He did not know that his niece had already testified. He did not know that the prosecutor had opened an investigation.
He did not know that his house of cards was about to collapse. “What is it? ” Dr Zander asked. “Nothing important.
Just barking from a dead end. ”
The following two weeks were a purgatory of waiting. Marit lived with her father, worked at the bakery and visited her mother in hospital every day. Almut was getting better.
Her blood pressure stabilised. Speaking became easier. But in her eyes there was a fear that did not disappear. “Child, is it worth it?
” she said when Marit told her how the procedure was progressing. “Would it not be better to give up? They are rich and powerful. And what are we?
” “We have the law on our side,” Marit answered. “And I will not back down. ” Garion, meanwhile, behaved as if nothing had happened. He went to work, met friends, posted photos on social media from expensive restaurants.
In one of them he was embracing Verena at sunset. The caption read: “Happiness exists. ” Marit looked at that photo and waited. The call from Dr Zander came on a Friday afternoon.
“It worked. ” His voice sounded restrainedly triumphant. “The public prosecutor has opened criminal proceedings on three counts. Fraud, forgery of documents and abuse of office.
Your husband has been summoned for questioning. He still thinks it is a routine check. But tomorrow there will be a search at his workplace. ” Marit caught her breath.
“A search? ” “Yes. The investigative judge has issued the order. They will seize the documents concerning the contracts with Ökogrün.
In parallel, a house search will take place. In your old apartment. ” “Will he find out? ” “Of course he will find out.
But it will be too late. The evidence is already secured. Friederike’s statement is on file. Even if he tries to destroy traces, the most important thing is fixed.
” Marit hung up and sat down on the bed. Her hands were trembling, but not from fear. From anticipation. She had waited weeks for this moment.
She had lain awake whole nights and played through possible scenarios. And now it had finally begun. The search took place on Saturday morning. Marit learned of it from the neighbour, the same one who had testified against her father.
Now she called completely distraught. “Marit, you will not believe it. The police at the Arnts’ place, patrol cars everywhere, officers in the whole house. They led Garion away in handcuffs and his mother was taken away by the emergency doctor.
Something with her heart. ” Marit listened in silence. She felt no malicious joy, only a tired satisfaction. Justice, albeit late, had come.
Garion was held for questioning for forty-eight hours. After that he was released on conditions, with a travel ban and suspension from his job at the municipal utility. He was dismissed without notice the same day. The accounts of Ökogrün were frozen.
Verena disappeared as soon as she learned of the events. They said she had fled to relatives in another city. A week later the public prosecutor called Marit. “Mrs Arnt, we need to meet.
There is news in your case. ” She went to the prosecutor’s office the same day. The prosecutor looked satisfied, as far as someone in his profession can be. “Your husband has agreed to a plea bargain,” he explained.
“He has made a full confession. He confirmed the forgery of the signature, disclosed the Ökogrün scheme and named all accomplices. ” “Why? ” “Because without a confession he faced up to ten years.
With the deal it is a maximum of four, taking all mitigating circumstances into account. He chose the lesser evil. ” Marit was silent, processing the information. “What does that mean for me?
” “It means that the gift deed is declared void. The apartment automatically reverts to your ownership by court order, without further civil proceedings. ” Marit closed her eyes. The apartment.
Her apartment. The one they had bought ten years ago. The one she had worked double shifts for, saved on everything, done without holidays and pleasures for. It was hers again.
“And the money? The 52,000 he stole? ” The prosecutor sighed. “The money is more complicated.
His mother’s apartment was bought with that money, but it is registered in her name. To reclaim those funds, a separate civil case is needed. That is lengthy and there is no guarantee. Gerlinde Arnt can claim she did not know where the money came from.
” “She knew everything. She organised it. ” “I know. But it is one thing to prove her involvement in the apartment fraud and another to prove she knew about the theft of the money.
Her son is covering for her during the interrogations. He says she had nothing to do with it. It was all his idea. ” Of course, Marit thought.
He defends his mama to the end, even if he goes down himself. “So she will get away with it? ” “Most likely. But she has been called as a witness.
There she made a scene, screamed. She claimed she was being slandered and that it was a conspiracy. In the end she was taken to hospital with a hypertensive crisis. This time it was real, not faked.
The doctors say it is the stress. ” Marit twisted her face into an ironic smile. “Well, God sees everything. ” “When is the trial?
” “In two or three months. You will be called as the injured party. Until then, live peacefully. The case is practically closed.
” She left the prosecutor’s office on a bright spring day. The air smelled of blossoming trees and freshness. Marit stood on the steps and looked at the city. The white houses, the hurrying people, the cars stuck in traffic.
Everything was as always and yet everything was different. She took out her phone and called her father. “Papa,” she said. “We won.
”
The trial took place at the end of April. Marit sat in the courtroom next to Dr Zander and watched Garion being led in. He had changed over those months. He was thinner, seemed older, with a hunted look.
The expensive suit had been swapped for simple clothes, the confident smile for a nervous twitch. He did not look at her once during the entire hearing. The verdict took almost an hour. Guilty of fraud.
Guilty of forgery of documents. Guilty of breach of trust. In total, four years in prison. When the judge spoke the final words, a heavy silence descended over the room.
Gerlinde, who was sitting in the front row, screamed and clutched her chest. They led her out, supported by the arms. Garion finally looked at Marit. There was hatred in his eyes.
Pure, concentrated hatred. “You will pay for this,” he whispered as they led him away. “I will come out again and then you will pay. ” Marit did not answer.
She just watched the door close behind him. Other civil proceedings followed regarding the division of assets. The apartment was returned as promised. The money was only partially recovered.
Eighteen thousand of the fifty-two thousand. The rest remained invested in the mother-in-law’s apartment, which the court did not recognise as financed with stolen money. Gerlinde never recovered from the blow. Six months after her son’s trial she suffered a severe stroke.
She survived, but remained in need of care. Paralysis on one side and speech disorders remained. She was now looked after by a carer paid for out of her own pension. Marit learned about it by chance from the same neighbour who had once testified against her father.
Now the neighbour was the epitome of friendliness. “Marit, how well you handled it. That is how you deal with people like that. I always knew your good-for-nothing husband was a scoundrel.
” Marit listened in silence. She felt neither joy nor satisfaction, only emptiness and exhaustion. A great exhaustion, heavy as lead after all this nightmare. A year passed.
Marit continued to work at the bakery. She had been promoted to production manager. Her mother lived with her in the same room from which she had once been dragged out by her hair. Her father came by at weekends and helped with repairs.
Marit had decided to renovate the apartment and erase all traces of her former life. The proceedings against her father were dismissed for lack of a criminal offence. Emergency assistance, that was the final assessment. Anska celebrated with a bottle of good brandy and a long conversation with his daughter.
“You know,” he said then, “I always feared you were too soft. They would crush you. And you turned out stronger than me, stronger than all of us. ” Marit shook her head.
“I am not strong, Papa. I just do not know how to give up. That is what you taught me yourself. ” He looked at her for a long time.
Something glistened in his eyes that looked suspiciously like tears. “I am proud of you, child. Very proud. ”
The divorce papers came in the summer.
Marit signed without looking. It was just a formality now. Garion was in prison. The marriage had been dead for a long time.
All that remained was to put the stamp on it. She left the registry office and paused on the steps. The sun was shining brightly. In the flower bed roses were blooming.
White roses, just like the ones Garion had waited for her with at the factory gate so many years ago. Marit looked at them and thought about how strange life is. How someone who seemed like a prince from a fairy tale turned out to be a monster. How a home that was a dream became a prison.
How love turned into hate and trust into betrayal. But she had held firm. She had not broken. She had not bent.
She had not given up. She had walked through hell and come out the other side. Her phone vibrated. A message from a colleague at the bakery.
“Marit, where are you? We bought cake. We are celebrating your divorce. Hurry up.
” Marit smiled for the first time in a long time, properly and from the heart. She put the phone away, walked down the steps and went towards her new life. A life in which there was no longer any room for lies, betrayal and fear. Only herself and the people she loved.
And that was enough.
