Camille---I thought the morning after would be harder. That guilt would come, like a ghost clinging to my skin, ready to suffocate me. But no. This morning, I wake up in his arms and for the first time in months… no, in years, I simply feel alive. Not broken. Not dirty. Not ashamed. Just… here.I stay a few seconds observing him. His peaceful face, his eyelashes fluttering slightly. His hand still on my hip, as if he wants to keep me there, prisoner of this suspended moment. I smile, a real smile, sincere, rare.I slip out of bed reluctantly and rush to the kitchen to make breakfast. I want to leave him this image of me, soft, light. Not the woman damaged by regrets. When he joins me, hair disheveled, dressed only in pajama pants, he hugs me, without a word. And everything seems simple, natural.After eating, I went home. My heart was beating hard as I walked through the door of my apartment, as if I was afraid André would guess what I had done. But he was there, absorbed in his toy
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