LOGINAURÉLIE
I get up. I go to Lorenzo. I wrap my arms around his waist, I press my belly against his back, I rest my cheek between his shoulder blades.
"I'm glad you're both here. Both of you. That's all I wanted. To bring you together. To have you near me."
AURÉLIEI check the table. I relight the candles that blew out somehow. I look at the lasagna in the oven. I smell the scent of tomato and cheese filling the house.It's perfect.Everything is perfect.The front door.My heart leaps.I almost run. I open the door.Lorenzo is there. In the doorframe. He has his jacket over his shoulder, his backpack, his tired look from every evening."Hi," I say, hanging from his neck.
AURÉLIEI get up. I go to Lorenzo. I wrap my arms around his waist, I press my belly against his back, I rest my cheek between his shoulder blades."I'm glad you're both here. Both of you. That's all I wanted. To bring you together. To have you near me."He doesn't answer right away.His muscles are hard under my arms. He doesn't relax against me the way he usually does.Then he places his hands on mine."I'm glad too," he says.His voice is strange. Strangled. As if he were holding something back.
AURÉLIEThe day begins like a lie.I'm in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. My gestures are mechanical. Butter on the toast. Coffee filtering. The sun enters through the window, casting circles of light on the tiles, and all of this should be beautiful, should be peaceful, should be exactly what I dreamed of for months.We are all together.Béatrice and Lorenzo under the same roof as me.My belly against the table, my two loves within reach.So why do I have this knot in my throat?Why can't I stop th
BÉATRICEShe approaches. She takes me in her arms. Her belly against mine, our children separated by so little flesh, so little tissue."Thank you for being here," she murmurs into my neck. "It does me so much good to have you."I hold her tighter. Too tight. As if I could hold back time, hold back the confession, hold back everything that's going to collapse."Me too, it does me good."Lie.She goes upstairs.I stay downstairs, in the darkened living room. Seated on the couch, hands on my belly, eyes in the
BÉATRICEDay is here. Full. Cruel. It enters through the gaps in the shutter, draws bars of light on the floor, on the bed, on me.I haven't slept. Not a second. My eyes are dry from having cried so much, my head is heavy, my belly is taut. The babies stir as if they sense my disorder, as if they want to remind me they are there, that they heard everything, felt everything.I should get up. I should go take a shower, erase this night from my skin, from my hair, from everywhere. But I remain there, nailed to the bed by the weight of what we've done.His scent is still on me. In my sheets, on my pillow, between my legs. Everywhere. I breathe it in despite myself, I soak in it, I d
BÉATRICEHis hands leave my back, come to rest on my belly. With infinite gentleness. As if I might break. As if my children were made of glass.He closes his eyes. He concentrates. He feels their movements beneath his palms. A tear slides down his cheek. Then another.He places his lips on my skin, there where our children are growing. A kiss. Two. Three. He kisses my belly as one kisses an altar, as one kisses a miracle."I'm sorry," he murmurs against my skin. "I'm sorry for not being there the way I should be. I'm sorry for all the hurt I'm causing. I'm sorry."Each kiss is a prayer. Each kiss is a forgiveness he asks
DianeThe black dress. It hangs in the closet, alone among the other muted-colored outfits. Simple, in silk crepe, cut with a severity that speaks volumes about the taste of the one who chose it. Long sleeves, a boat neck that glides over the shoulders, falling straight to mi
DianeThe change in air pressure, the cold draft on the steam, even before the sound of the door. My eyes open.He is there, in the frame. A dark silhouette breaking the field of white steam. He says nothing. He watches.My whole body freezes, then, paradoxicall
DianeStillness has become intolerable. The silence of the room weighs, a lead lid pressing down on my thoughts. I need to move. I need to occupy this flesh envelope, give it a sensation other than the cold glass or the oppressive void.I get up, my joints stiff. I wal
DianeHe continues, arriving at a double door at the other end of the corridor.— My quarters.He pushes them open. The space is even vaster, but slightly darker. The tones shift from white-gray to anthracite gray. The bed is a low platform. An immense wal





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