“You can’t even walk!” he mocked, standing smugly beside his wife and the woman carrying his child. His voice dripped with arrogance, his words cutting through the air like a blade. “Why are you here? Don’t you get it? Your life is over. I’ve moved on. I have a new life now.” Elena didn’t flinch. She said nothing, just stared at the two of them.
He was jittery, beads of sweat forming at his temples, his shirt collar wrinkled as if mirroring his guilty conscience. She stood serene, almost too perfect, as cold and clinical as a hospital hallway with no heart. Silence hovered for a moment until Elena finally spoke, her tone flat and void of emotion, as lifeless as a flatline on a heart monitor. “So… why are you here?” The man hesitated, then shifted his weight awkwardly. “I figured it was better to tell you in person before you heard it from someone else. We’re moving… into the apartment. Your apartment. Well, the apartment that used to be ours, but I can’t live where you…” He trailed off, motioning vaguely toward her legs, like that explained his cowardice. Elena reached for a thin folder on the table beside her, one she had clearly prepared for this moment. She handed it to him calmly.
“Everything’s in here,” she said. “The will. The paperwork. Transfer of ownership. It’s done. You two need a place to start. Now you have one. I’m finished.” He blinked, confused. “You’re just giving it to us?” His pregnant lover looked just as baffled. “Just like that?” Elena nodded. “Yes. It’s hers now. I have more important things to deal with.” His laugh came out shaky, caught somewhere between confidence and panic. “You? More important things? You can’t even walk!” Elena closed her eyes, just for a second.
And when she opened them, there was no rage, no sadness—only clarity. With slow, deliberate movement, she pulled the blanket off her legs, untied the cane that had been resting at her side, and rose. One step. Then another. The room went still, the quiet footsteps heavier than any insult spoken that day. He froze. The woman beside him gasped, eyes wide, stunned into silence.
“I was in an accident,” Elena said softly, “not given a life sentence.” She walked steadily now. “But none of this even matters anymore.” “How can you say that?” he stammered. “You told me the doctors said…” “You chose what was best for you,” she interrupted, still calm. “And I needed space, time, and peace—away from you. You gave me all of that. Without meaning to.” She reached the door, then paused, turning one final time. Her voice rang out, steady and strong.
“You took my home. I took your freedom.” The woman’s face paled. “What does that mean?” she asked nervously. He echoed the question, his voice beginning to tremble. Elena gave them a small, tight smile. “The file,” she said. “Read it carefully. Especially the last page.” And with that, she turned and walked away, her cane tapping softly against the floor. The sound echoed like a countdown, each step further sealing the truth. Behind her, the silence wasn’t just still—it was deafening. He fumbled with the folder, flipping through the documents with shaky hands.
Page after page until he reached the last one. His face drained of color. His lips parted, but no words came. At the bottom of the final page, it read: “This transfer of ownership shall only be valid if the recipient agrees to accept full legal and financial custody of a child conceived from the affair in question.” He looked up, eyes filled with panic and disbelief. “You didn’t say anything about a child.” The woman lowered her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because… it’s not yours.” And then came the last sound—the steady, confident tapping of Elena’s cane disappearing down the hallway, echoing like poetic justice into the distance.
