Todos los capítulos de Remember me naked: Capítulo 241 - Capítulo 250

ALEXANDREI don't know how long I stand motionless.A second. A minute. An eternity.All I know is that she's here, before me.And that my heart is beating fit to break.Lyra.Or no... not my Lyra.But then... who?Her face is identical, down to the shape of her gaze when she lowers her eyes, down to that infinitesimal way she has of holding her breath before speaking.Even the rebellious strand, the one that always falls from the same side, cuts across her cheek.This isn't a resemblance.This is a repetition.A perfect copy.But a living copy, breathing, trembling, expecting a child.I feel my insides twist.My aunt murmurs my name, invites me to sit, but my legs refuse to obey.I see only her.This woman.This stranger who wears the face of the one I lost.The same.And yet not the same.I left my Lyra at home.I saw her this morning, her wet hair, her voice still sleepy.She kissed me lightly before I left.She told me to be careful.So why... why here, a few kilometers away, stan

LYRAThe door opens abruptly.Two silhouettes advance into the white light of the corridor: my father and my brother.Their faces freeze upon seeing me.The silence that follows is heartbreaking.I read in their eyes the same stupor, the same fear as in Alexandre's.My father still carries that rigid bearing, that mixture of pride and fatigue.But now, he's trembling.His gaze glides over me, stops on my hand, on my face, on every detail, as if he fears everything will disappear if he blinks.— …Lyra?My throat tightens.His voice.That voice I hadn't heard for months.I nod, unable to speak.A tear rolls down his cheek. He takes a step forward, then stops.Between us, there is that invisible barrier of doubt and disbelief.ALEXANDRELyra's father remains standing near the bed, pale.Lucas, for his part, has that expression I dread: doubt mixed with hatred.I've seen many men lose their footing, but rarely someone fight so hard not to believe what they're seeing.I run a hand over my

LUCAS— She's fleeing toward the north wing!I shout without even catching my breath, already sprinting down the corridor.The guards scatter, radios crackling. The fluorescent lights cast a livid, ghastly glow that makes the puddles of glass from the broken window shine.I run.The corridor echoes with the sound of my footsteps, the drone of alarms, the pounding of my heart.Cassandre — or whatever she has become — already has a head start.A swift, fleeing silhouette, in a blood-stained white coat.— Secure the exits! Adrian shouts into his phone.— The police have been notified! a voice answers from the other end of the corridor.I burst through the swinging door, out of breath.Each corridor seems to repeat itself endlessly, every shadow resembles hers.But I finally see her: at the end of the hall, she staggers, slides against the wall, then disappears into the decontamination room.I draw my service weapon — the one I haven't used since the day everything fell apart.This time,

ALEXANDRENight had finally swallowed the uproar.Silence had settled like a slow tide, covering the shouts, the orders, the sounds of footsteps in the corridors.This silence was no longer a threat. It had something gentle, human about it, like a breath returning after a dive.Lyra is lying down, eyes open.The light from the corridor filters through the ajar door, drawing light shadows on her face.She isn't sleeping, I can tell from her breathing, too irregular.She's fighting her thoughts. Against the images.I approach silently.— You should rest, I murmur.She turns her head toward me. Her eyes search for mine, as if to make sure I'm not an illusion.— I'm trying, she says in a breath.I sit on the edge of the bed.Seeing her there, in this pale light, so calm in appearance, while inside everything must be screaming… it's almost unbearable.I pull the blanket up over her shoulders. My fingers brush her cheek, hesitant.— I'm staying here, okay?She nods, a thin smile trembling a

LYRAI never would have believed that daylight could still enter here so gently.The April sun filters through the blinds, settles on the white sheets, on the flowers placed on the windowsill.In this hospital room, everything seems suspended: the discreet hum of the machines, the distant footsteps in the corridor, and that smell—both cold and reassuring—of disinfectant mixed with the scent of the coffee Lucas went to get.On the bedside table, between two cups of water, rest the ultrasound images.I look at them again and again, unable to tire of them.That little being there, that heart beating beneath my belly… in one month, he will be here.Here.In the midst of all this, despite all this.— Dreaming again?I turn my head: Lucas is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a tender smile at the corner of his lips.His eyes shine with a gentle fatigue, but it's the first time in a long while that I've read peace in them.— A little, I say. It's allowed, isn't it?— Especially today.