LouiseThe road back stretches endlessly, like those journeys you dread without ever daring to cut short. The city scrolls by, dull, impersonal, indifferent to our miserable shipwreck. The car's interior, confined, saturated with our silences and the lingering smells of a night too long, becomes a prison of shadows and memories.Thomas keeps his hands clenched on the steering wheel, his knuckles white with tension. His gaze is lost on the road, but I know he sees nothing. Neither the traffic lights scrolling by, nor the hurried pedestrians, nor even the shop windows lighting up one by one as the day declines. He moves forward, driven by an inertia beyond him, as if the mere prospect of coming home was enough to steal his strength to breathe.As for me, I sit there, upright, motionless, arms crossed over my chest, vainly trying to warm myself. But the cold invading me doesn't come from outside. It's there, inside me, deeply rooted. That cold doesn't
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