Not even an hour had passed since he cheerfully suggested brunch, as if the night on the cold floor had never existed.

We stopped at a gas station on the way to the café, he went out to get coffee for himself and his girlfriend, and I remained in the car, rubbing my aching back and thinking about how I would survive another night on the mat.

That is where everything happened. Two men in strict suits quickly approached the entrance, showed their identification, and called him by name.

I saw the confidence slide off his face. Within seconds, the coffee cups were already on the asphalt and his hands were in handcuffs.

The charges sounded clear and dry: fraud, fake investments, other people’s documents.

He turned to me as if I could cancel reality with a single word. He begged me to say that I knew everything, that I had allowed him to use my data.

For the first time in his life he was truly pleading. And then I understood: karma is not about slipping on wet tiles, but about the fact that the truth always catches up.

I did not lie. I calmly said that I knew nothing and did not intend to take his guilt upon myself. In that moment I stopped being a convenient grandmother and became once again a person who respects herself.