In the Dumas family, we never go to bed angry.
That night was no exception.
And yet, each of us fell asleep with something heavy on our hearts.
Monsieur Dumas, with the bitter taste of being a second choice — a bandage on the wounded heart of his wife, who had clearly never forgotten Claude.
Madame Dumas, perhaps the only one who could truly understand her daughter, knew she couldn't let her make the same choices she once had. After what she had lived through, she had spent years in an illusion, to the point of no longer knowing what true love really was. After all, she was fifty-seven years old.
And Mylova… she had fallen asleep exhausted, having cried half the night. She thought of the love she would have to sacrifice. She knew Louis loved her sincerely, but she could not risk his life because of her.
She fell asleep hoping it was all just a bad dream.
But when the sun's rays slipped through the window she had forgotten to close, and the rooster's crow reached her ears, reality hit her full force. She began to cry again, unable to stop.
The Dumas house, usually lively and full of cheer at dawn, felt shrouded in a heavy, almost unreal silence that morning. The atmosphere seemed dull, as if the colors had drained away, leaving only a melancholic black and white.
Everyone got ready in silence.
Once dressed, Monsieur Dumas broke the quiet in a gentle voice, speaking to his daughter:
— Know that I will always support you. I'll be there whenever you need help. I love you, my darling. And above all, keep your faith in God — the real one, the one you and I know. He alone is worthy of trust.
— Thank you, Papa. I love you too.
They embraced, crying softly, without another word.
Madame Dumas, standing in the background, watched the scene without daring to approach. After all, she was the one who had decided that Mylova must go there. And it was clear her husband didn't want to speak to her. Perhaps he was still shaken by what she had confessed the night before. They needed a real conversation.
— I'll probably be home late tonight… or maybe not at all. No need to wait for me or prepare dinner, he said coldly, turning toward the door.
But his wife stopped him:
— Please, Maurice, we need to talk.
— About what? There's nothing to say.
— I'm begging you, Maurice… please…
He looked at her without a word, brushed her hand aside, and walked out.
Meanwhile, Mylova was packing her bag painfully slowly. She went to speak to her little sister, telling her she would be away, without giving details.
Her mother, unable to find the words to comfort her, simply drove her to the Abbey.
But once they reached the entrance, Mylova turned, met her mother's eyes, and said with a trembling voice:
— I will always remember the day my own mother handed me over, against my will, to a devil in disguise… knowing full well I might lose my life there.
Before Madame Dumas could answer, Mylova had already crossed the threshold.
Left alone outside, Céleste collapsed to her knees and broke into sobs. She could no longer hold back the pain clawing at her chest. Her legs trembled as she walked back home. Luckily, Vanessa was at school and Marc, now married, lived in his own house.
She thought she might have a moment to breathe — but a voice at the door stopped her.
— Who is it? she asked, her heart tight.
— Madame Dumas? It's me, Louis Jean! I came to see Mylova!
She opened the door. The young man held a bouquet in each hand.
— I brought her favorite flowers… lavender. And I didn't forget you either, Madame Dumas. Mylova told me you loved sunflowers. Here…
A year ago, she might have thrown her arms around this boy. He had everything one could hope for. Back then, she thought her daughter had won the jackpot.
— Louis… hello. I'm sorry to tell you this, but Mylova isn't home. She won't be for a month. She's at the Abbey, learning to welcome her soulmate when she comes of age. I'm sorry, but… you should forget my daughter.
— But… she never told me.
— And when would she have had the chance? Do you think she had time?
— No… nothing. Forget it…
— I know you saw her in secret last night. And it was precisely last night that I decided to send her there. She must follow the path set for her. She must move on. I refuse to let my daughter get into trouble over a fling.
Without giving him the chance to answer, she shut the door sharply. She knew that if she stayed one second longer, looking into the boy's devastated face, she would break into tears herself.