Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 11 - Chapitre 20

Chapter 11: The Long Light of EveningThe return to the Algarve house felt like stepping back into a dream that had waited patiently for them to finish waking up. The white walls had been freshly limewashed while they were away; the terracotta tiles gleamed under the late September sun. The vineyard beyond the terrace had been harvested again, the vines stripped bare but already showing the first green hints of next year's growth. Jasmine climbed the iron trellis beside the front door, its scent heavy and sweet. Inside, everything was exactly as they had left it: books stacked in the same careless piles, the old turntable still holding the last record they had played, the kitchen table scarred from years of shared meals.Veronica walked through the rooms slowly, opening shutters one by one. Sunlight poured in, chasing away the faint mustiness of absence. Ethan followed behind her, carrying their suitcases, setting them down in the hallway without hurry. They did not speak for the firs

Chapter 13: The Horizon That WaitsThe house in the Algarve stood unchanged through another spring. Almond blossoms had come and gone, leaving behind the faint sweet rot of fallen petals on the terrace tiles. The vineyard rows had greened again, leaves unfurling like small green flags of persistence. Inside, the air carried the familiar scent of coffee, old books, and the sea that never quite left the walls. Veronica and Ethan had returned after the Lisbon broadcast with a quiet determination to reclaim every corner the watcher had once touched. They opened every shutter. They slept with windows wide. They walked the paths at night without looking over their shoulders.Time did not erase memory. It only learned to sit beside it.Mara and Theo arrived first that summer, bringing their daughter Elise, now three, a small whirlwind of dark curls and fearless curiosity. She ran through the house calling everything by its Portuguese name whether she knew the word or not: mesa for table, jan

Chapter 15: The Sea Remembers EverythingThe house stood through another decade of seasons, its white walls repainted every third spring, the terracotta tiles replaced twice after storms cracked them open. The vineyard had been sold to a young couple from Porto who promised to keep the old vines alive; they visited once a month, brought crates of new wine, and left quietly. Veronica and Ethan no longer needed the income. The royalties from her books, the dividends from Ethan’s patents through Luca’s company, the quiet investments Sandra had set up long ago kept the house warm and the table full.They were eighty four and eighty now. Time had carved them gently but relentlessly. Veronica’s hair was pure white, worn in a loose braid that reached her lower back. Her hands, once steady enough to write for hours without pause, now trembled when she held a pen too long. Ethan’s shoulders had rounded, his walk slower, aided by a carved olive wood cane Luca had made for him. Yet every morning

Chapter 17: The Reckoning TideThe house on the Algarve cliff had never felt smaller than it did the winter Veronica turned eighty five. The white walls pressed inward with every gust of Atlantic wind, the terracotta tiles seemed to drink the cold until walking barefoot across them burned like frostbite, and the jasmine vine that had once climbed defiantly now hung limp and black after a single night of unexpected freeze. The sea below roared louder than memory allowed, waves slamming the rocks with the fury of something long restrained finally unleashed.She lived alone now. The children still came, but their visits had stretched thinner, pulled taut by lives that no longer fit neatly into school holidays or film schedules. Elise was in post production on her third feature, a brutal examination of inherited silence that critics already called unflinching. Luca and Ji yeon had moved permanently to California, chasing the next generation of solar storage patents that would power cities

Chapter 19: The Last SunriseThe morning after Elise left carried the kind of quiet that settles only after confession. Veronica woke to sunlight slicing through the half open shutters, thin gold bars across the terracotta floor. She remained in bed longer than usual, letting the warmth pool on her skin. No dreams had come in the night. For the first time in months the sleep had been deep, unbroken, the kind that leaves the body heavy with restoration rather than exhaustion.She rose slowly. The hip complained, the knees creaked, but the tremor in her hands had eased. She dressed in the same linen shirt and wide trousers she had worn for years, faded now to the color of driftwood. In the kitchen she prepared coffee the same way, two mugs, one carried to the terrace. The second remained on the table inside, untouched but present.The sea glittered below, calm after the winter storms. Gulls wheeled lazy arcs against a sky so clear it hurt to look at directly. She sat, sipped, watched th