Todos los capítulos de Désiré Me 2: Capítulo 171 - Capítulo 180

BéatriceThe car stops in front of the maternity emergency room. Lorenzo cuts the engine and turns to me. His look is intense, worried, determined."I'm going to get a wheelchair. Don't move.""I don't think I can move anyway."He gets out and runs. I stay alone in the car, still short of breath, hands resting on my belly. The babies are moving. They are moving a lot. As if they are agitated too, as if they sense that something is wrong.The door opens. Lorenzo is already there with a wheelchair, already undoing my seatbelt, already sliding his arms under my knees and behind my back."I'm lifting you. Ready?""Ready."He carries me to the wheelchair with that same ease that troubles me so much. His arms are firm around me, his chest against my shoulder, his breath in my hair. He settles me delicately, with gestures so tender it squeezes my heart. He pushes the wheelchair toward

BéatriceShe settles in. She takes out her pen. She asks my name, my date of birth, my address, my general practitioner. I answer mechanically, my mind elsewhere, my mind with him, with what he was going to say, with what he didn't say.The nurse finishes her questionnaire. She puts a bracelet on my wrist. She is kind, efficient. She explains that we'll go up to a room, that someone will come get me in a few minutes.When she leaves, we are alone again. But the moment has passed. The instant is broken. Lorenzo says nothing. He waits."What were you going to say?" I ask."Nothing. It's not the time. Not here. Not now.""Lorenzo...""Later. I promise. Later."I want to insist but a contraction comes. Less strong than the previous ones, but present. I close my eyes. I breathe. When I open them again, he is there, very close, his hand on my arm."Are you okay?"

Aurélie It's two in the morning. I am alone in our bed. In my bed. In this too-large bed where I lose myself. I tried to sleep. Really tried. I counted sheep, contractions, hours. Nothing works. My belly is heavy, the baby is moving, but that's not what keeps me awake. It's her. It's him. It's them. I don't know what's happening at the hospital. I don't know if she's okay, if the babies are okay. Lorenzo sent me a text around ten o'clock. "Everything's fine. She's sleeping. I'm staying. Kisses." Three sentences. Three little sentences that should reassure me. That should be enough. They're not enough. I push back the duvet. I get up. My bare feet on the cold kitchen tile. I make myself an herbal tea. Verbena. For calm. For the nerves. For this thing that's been squeezing my chest for hours. The phone is on the counter. I look at it. I stare at it. As if it were going to ring on its own, as if it were going to give me news without me having to make the first move.

Can we talk. Those three words terrify me more than anything he could have written. I get up. I take a shower. I get dressed. I pretend everything is normal. I prepare lunch. I tidy the kitchen. I wait. The doorbell rings. Not his keys in the lock. He rang. Why did he ring? I open the door. He's there. Tired. Dark circles under his eyes. But something else. Something in his look that I don't recognize. "Hi," he says. "Hi." He comes in. He puts down his bag. He looks at me. For a long time. Too long. "Are you okay?" he asks. "Yes. And you?" "Tired." He approaches. He wants to kiss me. I step back. Just a little. Just enough for him to understand. He stops. He looks at me again. With that new look that I don't like. "Aurélie," he says. "We need to talk." "Talk about what?" "About us. About her. About all of this." My heart stops. For a moment. Then it starts again, too fast, too hard. "What, us? What, her?" He runs his hand through his hair. That gesture he makes when

He hesitates. Then he takes his bag. He heads for the door. He stops, his hand on the handle. "I love you, Aurélie. Really. Whatever happens, I love you." I don't answer. I can't. He opens the door. He leaves. The door closes. I stay there, alone in this too-large living room, looking at that closed door behind which my husband was a minute ago. Behind which my life was an hour ago. My legs give way. I fall to my knees on the tile floor. And there, finally, I cry. All the tears I held back. All the fear, all the anger, all the sorrow. I cry for me, for him, for her, for all of us. I cry for these babies who will be born in this chaos. I cry for everything that's collapsing. The phone rings. I look at the screen. It's Béatrice. I don't answer. I can't. It rings again. Again. Again. Finally, it stops. A message arrives. "Aurélie? Can you call me when you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you. It's important. I love you." I read the message. I read it again. I read it once