“Grace, it’s Martha. I don’t have much time. Meet me at our old hotel. It’s important. And whatever happens, don’t call the police.” That text, received on my 60th birthday, took me straight to a past I’d sworn never to face again.
I never expected to receive a present for my birthday. Over the years, the day had become nothing more than a formality—just a handful of perfunctory phone calls from distant acquaintances, wishing me good health in the same monotonous voices.
No excitement. No surprises. Just another mark on the calendar. But this year, there was something different.
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A small package sat on my doorstep, carefully wrapped in craft paper. No return address. No note. Just my name, written in black ink.
I bent down hesitantly before picking it up. Usually, my mailbox contained nothing but bills and supermarket leaflets. It seemed… odd, but curiosity got the better of me.
Inside, nestled between layers of tissue paper, was a dictaphone.
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I frowned. It’s not exactly the kind of birthday present you’d expect. A scarf, maybe. A book.
But that?
I pressed play anyway.
[Recording: 03/12, 7:42 PM]
“Grace, it’s me. It’s Martha. Listen, I don’t have much time. I need you to come to the hotel we booked together years ago. Please. It’s important. And no matter what, no police.”
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Martha’s voice was urgent, almost breathless. A far cry from the confident, teasing tone I remember.
I gripped the recorder tighter. Martha always had a sense of drama. She could turn a lost earring into a real mystery. But this… was different. The tremor in her voice wasn’t an act.
I thought about all kinds of things.
Is she in trouble? Is this some elaborate joke?
I exhaled sharply, grabbed my bag, and called a taxi before I talked myself out of it.
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“It’s probably a prank,” I muttered when the car stopped. “A birthday surprise. Nothing serious.”
But as soon as I stepped into the dimly lit hotel lobby, I felt an unease creep into my chest.
The receptionist, a tired-looking man with coffee-stained cuffs, barely looked up, but when I asked about Martha, his brow furrowed.
“Yes, ma’am, she was here. Room 214. But she left late last night… with a man. A black sedan. I assumed he was family,” he said.
A great shiver ran down my spine.
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“Has the room been paid for?”
“Yes, until tomorrow.”
“I really need to check the room.”
The receptionist hesitated, eyeing me suspiciously. “Ma’am, I really shouldn’t… Hotel policy.”
“I understand, but she left me a distressing message. I just need to check.”
He paused, then with a sigh, slid me a keycard. “Five minutes. You were never here.”
The elevator ride was slow, each floor emitting a louder ding than the last. When I reached room 214, I hesitated before turning the handle.
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The door creaked open. And then… I froze.
A man stood in the middle of the dimly lit room, staring at me. In his hand, he held a Dictaphone identical to the one I had received.
Richard.
My breath caught. Decades had passed, but time wasn’t enough to erase his face from my memory. The same fixed gaze. Only now there was gray hair and a sharpness in his eyes I didn’t remember.
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He looked equally stunned.
“Grace?” His voice was cautious, as if he was testing the name.
My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.
What is he doing here?
“You received the same message,” I said affirmatively.
He nodded. “Looks like it.”
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We didn’t move. The atmosphere was heavy, filled with untold history, the kind that shouldn’t resurface in a dimly lit hotel room.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something. Martha’s things were scattered across the bed. And among them, a small business card.
I picked it up. An old restaurant, in our hometown.
Coincidence? No.
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My pulse quickened.
I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to travel with Richard, digging up old ghosts. But Martha…
Martha could get into trouble. And that was enough.
I needed to make sense of it all, to follow the twists and turns before they tangled into something unmanageable. So I did the only thing that made sense. I pressed “record” and began documenting the chaos.
[Recording: 03/12, 20:55 PM]
“I don’t know what’s going on, but Richard is here. He got the same message. If this is a prank, it’s a cruel one. But if it isn’t… I have to find Martha. I’m going to the restaurant. God help me.”
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***
The car roared along the dark highway, the road stretching into infinity ahead. Occasionally, headlights flashed, but outside, the world was eerily silent.
Inside the car, silence had settled between Richard and me like a third passenger.
Martha. Focus on Martha.
She had orchestrated something. I’m sure of it.
“You barely said two words,” Richard muttered.
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“There’s not much to say.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He always knew when I was hiding something. And I was. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on old wounds.
“We need to find Martha first,” I said, avoiding her gaze.
A pause. Then, a small laugh. “Some things never change,” I said, only to ignore it.
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The closer we got to the city, the more unease pressed against my ribs, mingling with nostalgia. Finally, the restaurant appeared. A nearly empty parking lot. Dusty trucks.
Inside, the place smelled of stale coffee and old wood. A few customers were hunched over their drinks. Then, an elderly man smiled at us.
“You’re looking for a woman with a ridiculous fur coat and an even more ridiculous scarf, aren’t you?”
Richard and I exchanged a look.
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“Sounds real to me,” I said cautiously.
“She was here. She wasn’t alone.”
I stiffened. “Who was she with?”
“A strange man. He didn’t let go of her arm. Even while she was eating. As if he was afraid she would run away.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
Richard leaned forward. “What else?”
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The man shrugged. “Weird guy. He wore sunglasses indoors. He barely spoke. But he did ask one thing: how to get to that old tourist castle outside the city.”
The castle. My stomach knotted. Summers spent searching for treasure, telling stories of secret rooms. This was no game.
I turned to Richard. His gaze settled on me, sharp, knowing. I rummaged in my bag, took out the Dictaphone, and pressed “record.”
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[Recording: 03/12, 11:17 PM]
“The restaurant was a dead end, but we have a lead. The castle. If this is a setup, it’s a damn good one. I should have known better than to trust Martha’s ideas. But here I am, about to follow them anyway.”
***
The castle loomed against the night sky, its jagged silhouette swallowed by mist. The stone walls, cracked by time, bore the weight of long-forgotten stories. A place of childhood adventures had transformed into something far darker.
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I entered first, the humid air enveloping me like an unwanted embrace. Richard followed me.
“Martha?” I said.
No answer. Dust coated every surface, the smell of mold thick in the air. The castle felt like it was watching us.
Then… “BAM!”
The heavy wooden doors slammed. I turned around, my heart pounding, and pulled the iron handle. Locked.
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“Come on!” I pushed the door open. Nothing.
Richard walked to the center of the room, brushed the dust off an old wooden chair, and sat down as if we had all the time in the world.
“We will find a solution.”
I clenched my fists. “Martha could be in trouble!”
He smiled. “Or sipping a cognac and laughing at us right now.”
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“Do you think this is an adventure?”
“Isn’t it? This isn’t the first time you didn’t want to be stuck somewhere with me.”
That was it. It was time to set fire to what I had been carrying for years.
“Don’t do this!” I said, moving closer. “You can’t joke. You let me go. You let me think it was easier for you if I did it.”
“It’s not fair.”
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“Really? You never fought for me.”
“And what was I supposed to do? You never told me why you left. You just… left.”
“You were always so sure of everything, always certain that I would wait forever.”
“I loved you. I still love you.”
The words hit me like a blow.
I was young and scared. When I found out I was pregnant, I convinced myself that Richard wouldn’t want the life I had wanted. So I made a decision for both of us.
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His gaze stopped on mine. “Grace.”
I turned away, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Martha told me. You had a son. He’s mine, isn’t he?”
Silence. That was enough of an answer.
Richard moved closer. “And my son… does he have children?”
“Yes.”
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Richard stared at the ground, then looked up, something different in his expression.
“Grace… Can I hug you?”
Those words broke something inside me. A sob was released.
“I was young and stupid. But I never stopped loving you,” I said, almost choking. “I missed you. I regretted it. Every day.”
Richard pulled me into his arms, warmth enveloping me. I clutched his coat, afraid to let go.
“We’ve spent too much time looking back,” he murmured. “For now, we must look forward.”
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Suddenly, his fingers brushed against mine. “All you have to do is take my hand.”
I hesitated, then laced my fingers through his, squeezing them tight.
Richard gave me a knowing smile before turning to the far wall. He grabbed an old, moth-eaten tapestry and pulled it down in one swift motion.
“I always knew there was a secret exit.
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***
The old wooden door groaned as Richard and I pushed it open, the cool night air rushing in. I blinked as sudden lights illuminated the castle entrance.
And then I froze.
Martha stood there, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, her fedora tilted and her incredibly bright scarf fluttering in the breeze. But it wasn’t just Martha.
Behind her was my son, wearing dark glasses—the same dark glasses the man in the restaurant had described. The ones I assumed belonged to a foreigner.
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My grandchildren were also present. I gasped. Richard stiffened beside me, his fingers still wrapped around my hand. Martha’s smile widened.
“Oh, come on, don’t look so shocked. You were never going to make it on your own, so I had to intervene.” She adjusted her hat. “I was under the impression you still had some unfinished business.”
I had a hard time processing his words.
“Mom, we were just waiting for the right moment to tell you.”
Richard pulled our son into his arms, his smile full of wonder.
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“Did you already know that?” I asked, my gaze shifting from one to the other.
“Sure. We just needed a little… theatrical touch to make everything fall into place,” Martha added lightly.
I turned to my son. “How long?”
He hesitated. “A while. I met Dad last year. We didn’t know how to tell you. Martha… well, you know Martha.”
I swallowed hard. I missed so much.
Martha clapped her hands. “Well, isn’t that the best birthday present ever?”
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I let out a breath. “You’re impossible.”
“I know. Now, are we going to eat cake or what?”
[Recording: 03/13, 2:30 AM]
“I should be angry. I should storm out. But for the first time in years, I feel like I belong somewhere again. Damn you, Martha. You win.”
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