PART 7 — The Mask Finally Falls
Jons's cry of despair echoed in the small space. Outside, winter rain tapped softly against the window, as if nature itself wanted to witness the collapse of a decades-long deception. Jons buckled at the knees and dropped to the floor, burying his face in his hands. His breathing was ragged and stuttering, like an engine that had finally given up the ghost.
"Dad... please," he sobbed, trying to shuffle forward to touch my knee. I instinctively recoiled. "You can't do this. Sabine... Sabine will do something desperate if we lose everything. We have debts, Dad. Not a little, but tens of thousands of euros to predatory lenders and dealers in the city. They've threatened..."
"They've threatened?" I repeated sharply. "And who made those debts, Jons? Not me, right? Did I ever ask you to borrow money for those expensive cars, designer clothes, and vacations to exotic places you flaunted on social media as if you were nobility? You lived on credit, on my back and on the capital your late wife built up through hard work and thrift!"
Jons lifted his face. His eyes were bloodshot and wet with tears. "Sabine would leave me if I couldn't provide her with that lifestyle! I did it all for her! For our family!"
"For your own selfishness, you mean," I said relentlessly. "And yesterday, when you put me outside in the freezing cold on New Year's Eve with the oliebollen I baked for you... then you thought I would keep my mouth shut forever. That I was an easy pawn you could throw in the trash without a second thought."
At that moment, we heard the sound of an approaching car pulling to a halt with squealing tires in front of the apartment complex. A car door slammed shut. Fast, heavy footsteps pounded up the stairwell. Before I could even stand up to walk to the front door, the door was battered as if the fire department wanted to break in.
"Jons! Jons, are you in there?!" Sabine's hysterical voice rang through the wood. "Where on earth are you?! The notary has been calling the whole time! The whole structure collapses if we don't sign now!"
Without waiting for an answer, Sabine rammed the door open—Jons apparently hadn't locked the night latch properly when he stormed inside. There she was, in an expensive cashmere coat, her face twisted in panic and anger. But when she saw me standing next to a crying Noah and Jons collapsed on the floor, her breath caught in her throat.
Her eyes darted back and forth between us. The mask of the unapproachable, cool daughter-in-law melted away in a fraction of a second. What remained was pure, unadulterated panic.
