LOGINLorenzo She's crying. Softly. Silently. Like she always cries. "I'm sorry," I say. "For what?" "For everything. For hurting you. For loving her. For still loving her." "Do you love me, you and me?" "Yes. But it's different." "I know. That's why it's complicated." We stay there, hand in hand, watching the rain against the window. Outside, the world continues. Inside, we're trying to rebuild something we broke ourselves. And in Portugal, there are my children growing up. And there's her. Always her. --- Béatrice Night. The twins are sleeping. The apartment is calm. I look at my phone. The draft is still there. The one I wrote a year ago. The one I never sent. "You were right. About everything." I reopen the message. I reread it. A year later, it's still relevant. I could send it. Now. Tonight. Tell her I'm sorry. That I think of her. That I wish things were different. But I don't. Because it's too early. Because it's too late. Because I don't know. My phone vibrate
BéatriceLisbon. The sun comes in through the wide-open window. The shouts of the twins in the living room. Alma wanting her bottle. Benjamim having once again managed to empty the pots and pans cupboard.One year. It goes by so fast. And so slowly at the same time.I prepare the bottles while listening to their babbling. Nine months. They are nine months old and already have strong personalities. Alma is calm, observant, like her father. Benjamim is a hurricane, like...Like me, I suppose.My phone vibrates. 10:03 a.m. Like every day.Lorenzo.I answer. I switch to video call."Hi.""Hi. Are they there?"I turn the camera towards the living room. Alma is in her bouncy chair, Benjamim in the middle of his pots and pans."Damn, Benjamim, you made a mess again," says Lorenzo laughing."He takes after you.""No, he takes after his mother who lets him do whatever he wants."We laugh. It's become our ritual. Ten minutes, every day. So he can see them grow up. So they can hear his voice. So
BéatriceI get up without making a sound. I go to the living room. I sit on the floor, back against the couch, like Aurélie a few hours earlier.I think back to that promise. The summer one. The one where I swore."I would never do something like that. Never."I believed it. At that moment, I really believed it. I thought those feelings would eventually pass. That I would meet someone. That everything would sort itself out.But feelings don't always pass. They settle in. They dig their hole. They become a habit, an addiction, a drug.Him. His laugh. The way he runs his hand through his hair. The way he says my name. Everything. Everything is etched into me.How do you stop loving? How do you extract someone from your skin?I open my phone. I look at the conversation with Aurélie. I scroll up. I see our messages from before. The jokes. The photos. The "I love you, my sister." Everything that was simple. Everything that became complicated.She's right.The thought imposes itself, clear,
AurélieThe silence. The void. The absence of everything."He kissed me," Béatrice continues. "And in that kiss, I felt years of waiting, years of shutting up, years of pretending. And I should have pushed him away. I should have told him no. I should have thought of you. But I thought of myself. For the first time, I thought of myself.""You're right," I say.My voice is calm. Too calm."What?""You're right. You thought of yourself. And that's exactly the problem. You thought of yourself without thinking of me. Without thinking about what it would do to me. Without thinking about our parents. Without thinking about anything other than your desire.""I...""Let me finish. You say you can't choose who you love. Maybe. Maybe that's true. But you can choose what you do with that love. You can choose to stay away. You can choose to protect your sister. You can choose not to go towards your sister's man. That, you can choose. And you didn't.""No. I didn't.""Why?""Because... because I'm
AurélieIt's 4:17 a.m. Seline is sleeping on the couch, curled up under a too-thin blanket. Me, I'm sitting in the dark, back against the hallway wall, phone in hand.I look at her message. "You are my sister. You always will be."My sister.That word that should protect. That bond that should be sacred. That thing we imagine indestructible until the day someone tramples it.I think back to that conversation. Two years ago. At my parents' house. Summer."You know, Béatrice, I'm really lucky with Lorenzo. I'm happy.""I know. It shows.""You too, one day, you'll find someone.""Maybe. In the meantime, I'm enjoying life.""Promise me something.""What?""Promise me you'll never meddle in my relationship. That you'll never try to... I don't know... take my place.""Aurélie, what kind of stupid question is that?""It's not stupid. I know stories. Sisters who... well, you know. Promise me.""I promise. You're my sister. I would never do something like that. Never."Never.I type. This time
LorenzoI don't answer. I can't. Because the answer is too complicated. Because the truth is, I want to be there for her too. But I can't. Not after seeing Aurélie's eyes."I have to go," I say."Okay.""I'll call you back.""Promise me you'll come back. Not for me. For the babies. They need their father.""I'll come back. I promise."I hang up. I stay there, in my car, staring at the darkness through the windshield. And I cry. Like a kid. Like a man who just lost everything without even realizing he was playing.AurélieSeline went to get food. I'm not hungry but she insisted. "You have to eat. To keep your strength up. To hold on."I'm alone in the living room. In the dark. I look at my phone.Messages. Lots. From my mother. From my father. From colleagues. From people who don't know. Who can't know.And one message from him."I'm sorry. I know it's not enough. But I'm sorry. I love you. I will always love you. No matter what happens."I read it. I read it again. I don't delete it.
DianeMy heart starts pounding wildly, an inner din I feel like everyone can hear. The mere fact that he's breathing in the same room revives every sensation on my skin. Dinner becomes an exquisite torture. Every clink of cutlery, every trivial word exchanged with my father the stock marke
DianeThe door to Liam's room closes behind me with a dull, final click. The manor's hallway is silent, almost sacred after the inner turmoil that continues to resonate within me. My steps are heavy, hesitant, as if the ground could give way beneath my feet at any moment. My clothes cling
DianeHe doesn't answer with words. His answer is physical, total. He leans in, takes a breast in his mouth, his tongue and teeth attacking the nipple with a cruel precision that makes me cry out, a muffled sound he swallows with another kiss. His hands travel up my thighs, parting them, f
DianeMy hands grip his shoulders, his arms, feeling the muscles contract under the smooth, damp skin. His hands travel over my back, my hips, with feverish impatience, move up to undo the clasp of my bra with an impatient gesture. The black silk fabric falls. The towel at his waist loosens, slips,







