LyraI remain frozen for a long time after the doctor leaves, as if petrified in an invisible cage. The silence has thickened, heavier than ever. I can feel Lucas's breath near me, but I cannot cling to it. Not now.My mother paces back and forth, her phone glued to her ear. My father approaches. Slowly. As if he already dreads what he will have to say. Or hear.He positions himself in front of me. I barely lift my eyes. I know that look. Cold. Clear. Cutting.— Lyra, he says in a grave voice. It’s time to stop making us go in circles.I do not respond.— You need to tell us who the father of this child is.My heart skips a beat.Lucas remains still.My mother stops dead in a corner of the room. She hangs up, turns around. Her arms crossed, her expression closed. As if she knew this question was bound to come up. As if she was waiting for it too.— Dad… it’s not that simple…He doesn’t blink.— You are pregnant. You have been accused. Everything has been called into question. But now,
LyraThe silence in the room is suffocating.Lucas has stood up, slowly pacing like a caged beast. My mother has placed her hands on my shoulders, without gentleness. My father, meanwhile, stands near the window, his gaze fixed on his phone as if he could draw some reassuring truth from it. But there is nothing reassuring here anymore. Just this waiting, burning, acidic, that gnaws away.Then, suddenly, footsteps. Quick. Urgent.The door bursts open.The chief doctor reappears, out of breath, his features drawn. He holds another file, a thin sheet this time, crumpled as if he had gripped it too tightly in his hand.— I… I need to speak to you immediately.His gaze slips to me, then back to my parents.— We have received the first results. It’s… quick, I know, but some elements required only a few minutes. The preliminary blood analysis… revealed anomalies.I feel Lucas freeze behind me.— What anomalies? my father asks, his voice suddenly icy.The doctor hesitates. Then he plunges in:
LyraI thought the storm had calmed after my parents' anger. But barely a few hours had passed before it rumbled again. The air in my room is heavy, saturated with electric tension. Lucas remains silent beside me, his eyes fixed on the door as if waiting for a verdict.My mother enters first. She has that hard, icy expression I have dreaded since childhood.— There is no room for doubt, she says. We are going to prove that you did nothing.I look at her in confusion.— Mom…She does not listen to me. My father arrives behind her, a block of contained anger, his phone still in hand. It looks like he just made a call that changed everything.— We spoke to the chief doctor, he begins, and we demanded that comprehensive tests be done.— Tests? I repeat, confused.— Not just for you, he says. For Cassandre too.I feel my breath catch.— Why… Cassandre?Lucas speaks up, his voice lower but full of gravity.— Because we need to know if she… caused the loss of her child.These words resonate
LyraThe room seems to shrink around me. Every sound is amplified: the hum of machines, distant footsteps in the hallway, my own short and irregular breath. Lucas doesn’t take his eyes off me, as if he’s waiting for the precise moment to speak. I feel him hesitating, weighing his words, and that chills me even more than the silence.— Lyra, you need to know something, he finally says, in a low voice.His tone is serious, so serious that my heart tightens immediately.— What? What is it?He briefly looks away, runs a hand over his face as if to chase away a shadow. Then his words fall, relentless:— Cassandre… she lost the baby.The world stops, everything stops, my breathing, the beating of my heart, my thoughts. I feel like the ground is giving way beneath me as I am pinned to this bed.— No… no, Lucas… tell me it’s not true…I shake my head, my hands trembling with all their might. My eyes desperately search for a sign in his, a glimmer that would contradict his words. But Lucas rem
LyraA dull thud. Then another.My breath is heavy, as if I am fighting against an invisible sea. My whole body is numb, as if wrapped in a veil of cotton. I feel like I am floating, far from the world, trapped in a dream that clings to me. Yet, a voice pierces this fog. A voice that cuts through the darkness. A voice I would recognize among a thousand.— Lyra… my little sister…Lucas, my mind fights to surface, but my eyelids are heavy as lead. Something grips my hand. A vibrant warmth, almost burning, that pulls me from the drift. I cling to this contact as if it were a lifeline. Then, slowly, a breath passes over my lips, and my eyes open to a ceiling that is too white, too bright, assaulting my retina.The first thing I see is Lucas's face. His features are drawn, his eyes circled with shadow, his lips pressed together as if holding back a scream. And yet, he is alive, right there, just a few centimeters away.— Lucas…?My voice is a hoarse whisper, strangled. My throat is dry, my
LucasI don’t know how long I stay there, frozen, listening to Lyra's irregular breathing, my hand tightly clasped around hers. Time dilates. All I feel is this overwhelming weight in my chest, this rage simmering, ready to tear me apart from the inside. I feel the burn rising in my throat, but I don’t let go. I can’t. Not now.I slowly pull out my phone. My fingers tremble, not from fear but from too many intertwined emotions: anger, worry, a pain I hadn’t anticipated. I find my parents' number and press it.Three rings. Then my father's deep, familiar voice:— Lucas?I grit my teeth.— It’s Lyra. She… she’s in the hospital, but…A heavy silence falls on the other end.— But what? my mother replies, her voice pale, already trembling.I take a sharp breath, unable to say everything in one breath.— She’s pregnant, three months along.A crash is heard on the phone, as if my mother dropped something. My father doesn’t speak right away. When he resumes, his voice has that steely tone he