I leaned back against the seat, trying to process what I had just found. Grandpa hadn’t just left me a car; he had left me a whole new identity. Money, an apartment in the city center, another car, and a safety deposit box with God knows what inside. But why?
I read his letter again. The key to a new life. A life where you finally become who you were always meant to be. Strong, independent, free. Did Grandpa somehow know my marriage would fall apart? Never fully trust anyone, especially those who seem closest. Those words now felt like a direct warning about Richard.
Could Grandpa, with his experience in the special services, have seen something in Richard that I couldn’t? Signs of lies, manipulation, hidden motives? And what was I supposed to do now? Use this new identity and start a new life as Victoria Williams? Or go back to my old life and try to reconcile with Richard?
I knew the answer before I even asked myself the question. There was no going back. Richard had shown me his true face. Grandpa had given me a choice, and I had made it. I would use what he left me. I would start a new life.
But first, I had to solve one more mystery. What was in the safety deposit box Grandpa mentioned? What documents were so important that he couldn’t leave them in the car? And who was my grandfather, really? I knew the road that led me to this old garage was only the beginning.
I closed the box, put everything back, and locked the compartment. Then I got out of the car and covered it again with the tarp. First, I needed sleep. The garage was surprisingly clean, and in the corner, I noticed an old couch covered with a checkered blanket. Next to it was a small table, and on it, a thermos.
I walked closer, not believing my eyes. The thermos was new and modern. And next to it was a note: Mint and lemon balm tea. Always helps to calm down. Rest, Victoria. Tomorrow is a new day. P.M.
Grandpa’s handwriting. But that was impossible. Grandpa had died three months ago. I touched the thermos carefully. It was warm, as if the tea had been poured just a few hours ago. It made no sense.
I opened the thermos and immediately smelled the familiar scent. It calms your nerves and clears your mind,he would always say. I poured some tea into the lid and took a sip. It tasted exactly as I remembered from childhood. Grandpa’s tea.
Tears streamed down my face, but this time they were tears of gratitude. I wrapped myself in the blanket, which also smelled like him—of tobacco, forest, and something deeply familiar and safe. For the first time that crazy day, I felt peace, as if strong, loving arms were wrapping around me.
«Thank you, Grandpa,» I whispered as I drifted off to sleep. «For everything.»
I dreamt a strange dream. I was driving in the black Thunderbird down an unfamiliar road. Grandpa was behind the wheel, young, with black hair instead of white, but with the same piercing blue eyes. «Where are we going, Grandpa?» I asked.
«To a place where you can be yourself, Victoria,» he answered. «A place with no other people’s expectations, no rules forced upon you, no judgments.»
«Does such a place exist?»
He turned to me and smiled, a wide, open, youthful smile. «It exists everywhere, Victoria. You just need to find the courage to see it.»
The road stretched ahead, winding between hills, and it seemed endless. The wind blew through my hair, the sun warmed my face, and I felt a strange lightness. «I’m proud of you, Victoria,» Grandpa said, his eyes still on the road. «I’ve always been proud. Because I knew, one day, you would find your own way. And today is that day.»
The car stopped at the top of a hill. Before us lay a small town nestled in green, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. «This is your home, Victoria,» Grandpa said. «Not the place where you live with someone who doesn’t value you. This is where you can be who you are. Free. Real.»
«I don’t know how to be myself, Grandpa,» I admitted. «I’ve been what others wanted me to be for so long, I’ve forgotten who I really am.»
«You’ll remember,» he said, placing his hand over mine. «Just listen to your heart. It never lies.»
I woke up with the first rays of sunlight streaming through the small garage window. The dream had felt so real that I lay there for a few minutes, soaking in its peace. But reality soon reminded me of where I was. I was in an old garage with no home, no husband, and no idea what to do next.
And yet, I had a new name, money, and keys to an apartment in New York. I stood up, folded the blanket, and straightened the couch. I decided to leave the car in the garage for now; it had been sitting here for years and could sit a little longer. First, I had bigger problems to solve.
I gathered my things, making sure everything in the garage was as it had been. Before I left, I took one last look around. «Thank you, Grandpa,» I whispered. «For everything.» I locked the garage and headed to the bus stop. I was on my way to New York. On my way to the new life Grandpa had left for me.
On the bus, I thought about how easily we accept the reality given to us. How rarely we question what seems obvious. Richard loves me. I’m happy in my marriage. My home is wherever my husband is. But what if none of that was true? Grandpa seemed to know the answers, and he tried to prepare me.
At the train station, I bought a ticket for the next train to New York. In the restroom, I washed my face, brushed my hair, and changed into clean clothes from my suitcase. Looking in the mirror, I tried to see the Victoria Grandpa had spoken of: strong, independent, free. But all I saw was a tired, middle-aged woman with red, tear-stained eyes. «Time,» I told my reflection. «I just need time.»
The train ride took four hours. I pulled out the passport Grandpa had left me: Victoria Patricia Williams. The document looked real, with security features, holograms, and watermarks. How did Grandpa get it? Why create a backup identity for me? To protect me from Richard? The questions kept piling up.
I arrived in New York in the afternoon. The city greeted me with cold rain and rushing crowds. I stepped out of the station and hailed a cab. «Park Avenue, 42,» I told the driver, feeling strange saying those words.
The building was an elegant pre-war construction. I found the entrance and opened the door with one of the keys Grandpa had left me. Inside, behind the concierge desk, sat an older man with a neatly trimmed gray beard.
«Good afternoon,» I greeted him, feeling unsure. What if he knew all the residents by face?
But the concierge just nodded with a polite smile. «Good afternoon, Victoria. Nice to see you again.»
I froze. He knew me? Or rather, he knew Victoria Williams. «Can I take your bag?» the concierge offered, seeing my confusion.
«No, thank you. I’ve got it,» I tried to smile naturally. «It’s been a while since I was here. I’m a bit out of practice.»
«Yes, we haven’t seen you in almost a year,» the concierge nodded. «Peter said you were away on a long assignment.»
Grandpa. It was Grandpa again. He hadn’t just left me an apartment; he had created an entire backstory for me. An assignment. A year away. A concierge who knew me as Victoria Williams.
«Yes, work,» I nodded vaguely. «You don’t always get to choose.»
«Of course,» he said sympathetically. «Your apartment is ready for you. Peter arranged for cleaning once a month. They were here last week.»
«Thank you,» I said, heading to the elevator, my heart pounding. Grandpa had thought of everything.
Apartment 17 was on the fourth floor. I opened the door, stepped inside, and stood there in shock. It wasn’t just an apartment; it was a palace. A spacious entryway, a living room with tall windows, a kitchen with the latest appliances, and a bedroom with a massive canopy bed.
And everywhere, there were books. Floor-to-ceiling shelves in the living room, stacks on the bedside tables, even a small shelf in the bathroom. Grandpa knew my love for books. He had created a space where I could feel at home.
I walked through the apartment in disbelief. Every detail was thought out with extraordinary care. The paintings on the walls were probably originals. In a cabinet stood a set of family heirloom china Grandpa had inherited from his mother.
In the bedroom, I found a wardrobe full of women’s clothes in my size and style, but far more expensive than anything I had ever owned. In the bathroom were luxury brand cosmetics and even the medications I used for rare migraines. It was unbelievable. Grandpa had created an entire life for me.
I returned to the living room and noticed a photo in a silver frame on the table. It showed Grandpa and me laughing in front of the Statue of Liberty. But I had never been there, and I had never taken that photo with him. It was an expertly crafted fake.
Next to the photo was an envelope with a note inside: Welcome home, Victoria. I hope you’ll like it here. There’s food in the fridge and a bottle of good wine in the cupboard. Rest, gather your strength. Then decide what to do next. But remember, you are no longer alone. P.M.
I sank into a chair, feeling tears welling up. Grandpa, what have you done? Why did you create this parallel life for me? Who were you trying to protect me from?
I could stay here, become Victoria Williams, and live in this beautiful apartment. But I didn’t know where this money or this apartment came from. I didn’t know what Grandpa really did in his secret life. And if I became Victoria Williams, what would happen to Victoria Thompson?
Decide what to do next, Grandpa wrote. I knew I had to decide, but not right now. Right now, I just needed to catch my breath. Luckily, now I had a place to take that time, a place Grandpa had created just for me.
I opened the fridge and, just as Grandpa promised, it was stocked with fresh groceries and containers of homemade meals—my favorite dishes. I heated up some chili and opened the bottle of expensive Californian wine. Sitting at the table in this strange yet comforting apartment, I felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole.
After lunch, I decided to explore the apartment more thoroughly. In the office, a small room lined with bookshelves, I found a safe cleverly hidden behind a shelf that slid aside when I pressed a certain book: The Master and Margarita, my favorite novel.
The safe was locked, but I immediately realized the code must be in the sealed envelope I found in the car. I opened it and saw six numbers: 071554, Grandpa’s birthday. I entered the code, and the safe opened silently.
Inside were folders of documents, another large stack of money, and a small, sleek gun with a silencer and a box of bullets. I recoiled, shocked. A gun? Why would Grandpa leave me a weapon?
Carefully, I picked up one of the folders. Inside were photos of Richard, my husband, in situations I knew nothing about, with people I had never seen. Richard on a yacht with half-naked women. Richard in an expensive restaurant with men who weren’t his bank colleagues. Richard walking out of a luxurious mansion with a briefcase.
