Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 231 - Chapitre 240

LYRAI’m going out today.The world outside seems too vast, too bright, as if it wants to dissolve me.Alex is there, a bag in hand, his eyes full of an unnamed relief.He believes in healing.He believes in the return.I take his hand.— I want to go back to my parents’ house, I say softly.He furrows his brow, surprised.— Lyra… are you sure?— Yes. It’s better this way. I need them, Lucas… And you also need rest. You won’t have to take care of me alone.I say this in a calm, poised, almost tender voice.He nods, reluctantly, not knowing that by obeying, he is doing exactly what I want.Outside, the wind glides over my skin like a foreign caress.Each step towards the car feels like a step out of the old world, a step into new skin.I feel the faint vibration of the phone under my coat, this silent heart I keep close to me.It hasn’t said anything for three days.But I know it listens.When we arrive in front of the house, my mother is crying.My father looks away, awkward in his mo

LYRAThe morning unfurls in a soft, slightly milky light. Every sound in the house seems stretched, as if the air itself hesitated to move. My father leaves first, punctual as always. I hear the rustle of his jacket, the brief snap of the door, then the distant rumble of the car pulling away in the driveway. Lucas, still half-asleep, rushes down the stairs, a toast in his mouth, his hair a mess. He laughs, shouts something to Tania who laughs too, then disappears as well.And then, silence falls. Dense. Muted. Almost liquid.Alex is getting ready to leave. I watch him put on his jacket, adjust his watch, run a hand through his hair as he always does when he's nervous. He steps closer, his gaze searching mine. He has that mix of attention and worry he's worn for weeks, like a second skin.— Are you sure you'll be okay? he asks me. — Yes, everything will be fine.I smile. I know how to do it now: smile at the right moment, look straight into his eyes, let him b

LYRANight settles in with calculated slowness.Every shadow seems chosen, every silence measured.In the house, everything breathes like a sleeping body.I've lit only one lamp, the one by the mirror.Its yellow light pours an unreal, almost religious warmth onto my skin.I look at myself for a long time in the glass: my bare shoulders, the gleam in my eyes, the infinitesimal crease at the corner of my mouth.He must see me like this.Free. Beautiful. Fatal.On the table, a glass of water rests, motionless.Right next to it, the dress I've chosen: light, thin, almost immodest.It hugs every line of my body with a sweetness of promise.When I put it on, I have the strange sensation of donning a role, that of a woman who knows exactly what she is about to do—and why.Outside, night glides over the garden.I wait.The waiting consumes me, but in a sweet way, almost voluptuous.I hear the wind lifting the leaves, then the familiar sound of an engine in the distance.His engine.My heart

A Stranger Months Earlier(There are voices, first. Distant.Then the sea.Always the sea.)A steady, deep pounding, like a giant heart beneath the surface.A murmur that approaches, recedes, returns.And in this blue tumult, a sharp, throbbing pain in my belly.Something moves inside me.Something lives.And it is that, perhaps, which brings me back.I open my eyes.A white, sharp light.The smell of salt.The taste of iron on my lips.And silhouettes above me—blurred, as if cut out of the mist.— She's breathing! shouts a man's voice, hoarse, unfamiliar.— Quick, take her to the infirmary. Gently. She's pregnant, for God's sake!Hands lift me, carry me.My body falls back onto a narrow bunk, my head wrapped in damp cloths.I hear footsteps, orders, the metallic clinking of instruments.Then a different voice, calmer, deeper.— I'll take care of her, sir. Go notify the captain.A smell of alcohol.A cold cloth on my skin.And that voice continuing, low, methodical, reassuring.— Don'

ADRIANThis morning, the light has something soft about it, almost tender.It stretches across the parquet floor, caresses the rumpled sheet, lingers on Lyra's face.She's still sleeping, one hand resting on her belly, her breathing peaceful, her mouth slightly open as if she's about to speak a word she immediately forgets.There's a purity in her sleep that I don't want to disturb , and yet I do.I approach, speak in a low voice:— We'll go into town today. My aunt has been in the hospital for a few days. She'll be happy to meet you.She opens her eyes slowly, as if every second of wakefulness costs her something.No refusal, no surprise, just that somewhat distant look she sometimes has, when she seems to be listening to me without really hearing.— Your aunt?— Yes. My mother's sister. She's all I have left now.I'm an only child, you know. My parents died long ago.The dead never stop speaking, but this morning, their voices seem calmer to me.Perhaps because she's here.— She lov