Chapter 4: The Proof I Could No Longer Ignore

The taxi dropped me off in front of Kostas’s apartment building.

I used the key code he’d sent earlier to let myself in.

The living room light was on.

I saw the document envelope on his desk immediately.

The envelope had been torn open.

The papers inside were ripped in half.

The pages were crumpled, and a large, spreading water stain had bled the ink, blurring the signatures and the notary seal.

I picked up the two halves, my hands shaking.

It was the authorization for a property title transfer.

My mother wanted to sign her old house over to me.

The document should have been mailed to my apartment.

But Kostas had insisted. “Have it sent to my place.”

“I’ve done this before.”

“I’ll submit the paperwork for you so your mom doesn’t have to make another trip.”

Now it was ruined.

To get a new one, she would have to go back to that notary office in her little town and mail another original.

It would take at least a month.

Her health wasn’t great. She couldn’t handle all that running around.

I stared down at the two ruined halves of paper on the table.

Two months of work, destroyed.

There was a faint, blurry shoe print on one of the pages.

I called Kostas.

It rang for a long time before he answered.

His voice was low, laced with exhaustion and impatience.

“I’m at the ER. Eleni’s getting a nebulizer treatment. What is it?”

“My document,” I said, my voice flat.

“The one on your desk. Someone tore it up and spilled water on it.”

He was silent for two seconds.

“I can’t deal with that right now.”

“The document was for my mom—”

He cut me off, his voice turning cold.

“Do you have to talk about this right now?”

“She had an asthma attack. She almost died.”

“Do you get that?”

“Just have another copy made.”

“And stop blaming her for everything.”

Then he added, “She’s still getting treatment.”

“Don’t bring this up again.”

The line went dead.

A second later, a notification for Eleni’s new Instagram story popped up.

The caption read: “Asthma attack. Kostas rushed me to the ER.”

“Thank God for him.”

In the comments, a friend had already replied, “Kostas to the rescue again?”

A wave of profound emptiness washed over me.

My heart felt hollow, leaving nothing but exhaustion.

I turned off my phone and went to put the torn document in my bag.

As I straightened up, my hand brushed the mouse on the desk.

The computer screen flickered to life.

It was on a hotel booking site.

Under “My Orders,” an unread notification glowed.

“Your stay has been completed. Please leave a review.”

The mouse was right there. I clicked.

The order details loaded.

Guest: Kostas Costa

Additional guest: Eleni

Hotel: A hot spring resort in the suburbs

Room type: One king bed

There was also a note in the remarks section: “Room with private Jacuzzi requested.”

The date was from three months ago.

The same weekend he’d told me he was on a business trip.

My stomach plummeted.

I didn’t close the page.

My gaze drifted to the browser’s bookmarks bar, where I saw a link to a delivery service.

I clicked it.

In the order history, from that same weekend three months ago, at that same location.

Order time: 10:47 p.m.

Order contents: Two cups of mulled wine, one fruit platter, one box of condoms.

Ordered by: Kostas.

I stared at the word “condoms” for a long, long time.

Long enough for the screen to go dark on its own.

I suddenly remembered sending Kostas a message that night.

“Are you tired from the trip?”

He’d replied, “Not too bad. Go to bed early.”

And I had. I’d gone right to sleep.

While he was ordering a box of condoms to the hotel room he shared with Eleni.

I placed the mouse back on the desk.

I was perfectly calm.

I simply opened the closet, pulled out the suitcase I’d left here, and began packing my things, one by one.

When the door closed behind me, the electronic lock chimed.

“Door locked.”

I didn’t look back.

There was no reason to.