The doorbell rang with the sharp, impatient insistence of someone who had no intention of asking whether the person inside was ready to receive company. Claire set her scissors on the table, brushed a tiny thread from her fingers, and went to answer.
Eleanor stood outside. She wore an expensive, perfectly pressed coat, carried a handbag over one arm, and held a thick folder of papers beneath the other. Cold, damp air drifted in from the hallway.
“Hello, dear Claire,” her former mother-in-law said in a syrupy voice.
The artificial tenderness made Claire uneasy at once.
“I’ll only be here a few minutes. We need to have a serious conversation.”
“Good afternoon, Eleanor,” Claire replied calmly, stepping aside. “If it’s serious, then come in.”
Eleanor crossed the threshold without even considering whether she should remove her shoes. She walked straight into the living room and settled into an armchair as though she had come to preside over an important meeting.
Before saying anything else, she studied the room. Her eyes moved over the sewing machine, the dressmaker’s mannequin, the neatly stacked fabric, and the boxes filled with buttons and other supplies. At last, her lips tightened in satisfaction.
“I see you’ve made yourself quite comfortable here. Living alone, with no one disturbing you. No husband, no family responsibilities. What a life.”
“I’m doing fine,” Claire said without irritation. “Would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you. I didn’t come for tea. I came with something official.”
Eleanor placed the folder on the coffee table. From it she removed a sheet of lined paper and smoothed it carefully.
A list had been written in large, precise letters. Every item had a number. At the bottom were yesterday’s date and a sweeping signature.
“It’s all here,” Eleanor announced. “You can read it yourself, although I’m perfectly willing to do it for you.”
“Please read it,” Claire said, taking the chair opposite her. “I’d rather hear it.”
Eleanor adjusted her glasses.
“Number one. A twelve-place dinner service, white porcelain with gold trim. Given by me personally on your wedding day.”
“I remember it.”
“Number two. A German vacuum cleaner with a washing function. Also my gift. I saved for nearly six months to buy that thing.”
“Yes, I remember that too.”
“Number three. The cash placed in an envelope and given to the newlyweds in front of witnesses. Number four. A gold ring with a precious stone. It belonged to my late mother. I gave it to you on your wedding anniversary.”
At the last item, Eleanor stopped reading and looked up.
“That ring has special meaning to me.”
Claire stared silently at the carefully covered page.
Outside, someone was struggling to start a car. Inside, the apartment had fallen almost completely quiet.
What stunned Claire was not even the list itself. It was the thought of Eleanor sitting down, picking up a pen, and deliberately remembering every object she had ever given them.
She had remembered, written everything down, numbered it, and counted it.
“All right,” Claire said at last. “Now tell me plainly. What exactly do you want from me?”
“What do I want?” Eleanor repeated, genuinely surprised. “I want you to return everything on that list. Those gifts were meant for your family. Your family, Claire. Now that family no longer exists, the gifts should come back to me.”
“That’s an interesting theory. Who decided those were the rules?”
“My conscience,” Eleanor declared solemnly. “My son has been left with practically nothing after the divorce. No home of his own, no belongings, no money. He has to begin again empty-handed. Meanwhile, you’re perfectly settled, using our dinner service and wearing a family heirloom. Do you honestly think that’s fair?”
Claire rose from her chair.
She walked to the window and looked down at the courtyard. For several seconds she stood without moving.
Then she turned around.
“Eleanor, tell me honestly. Who came up with this idea?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s fair.”
“Where is Daniel now?”
“Working, of course. He’s a proud man. He finds it humiliating to come here and demand his things back. I’m his mother. I’m not ashamed to defend my own child.”
“Does Daniel know you came here with this list?”
For the briefest moment, Eleanor’s eyes shifted toward the paper on the table.
Someone else might not have noticed. But Claire had spent eight years watching this woman closely. She recognized every small change in her expression.
“He knows he was left with nothing,” Eleanor finally said. “The rest is none of his business.”
Claire was surprised by how calm she felt.
She had always believed that one day she would explode. After the divorce, she woke almost every night around four in the morning and imagined all the things she wanted to say.
She wanted to release everything she had carried for eight years.