The hum of cars rose up to the tops of the skyscrapers, a constant, oppressive echo, as if the city refused to let anyone taste silence. The rain, fine and cold, had been falling for over an hour now, clinging to the windows of Émilie's small apartment.
Sitting on the worn sofa in the living room, she stared at the black screen of her phone. The divorce decree, signed just days ago, lay folded in half on the coffee table, as if hiding it would make it disappear. But nothing ever truly vanished, not in this city, and certainly not the scars left by a broken marriage.
"Mama?"
The small voice tore her from her thoughts. Her daughter, Clara, barely six, stood in the doorway, clutching a stuffed animal to her chest. Her tired eyes still sparkled with innocence, and Émilie felt her heart tighten. She quickly wiped away the tears threatening to betray her weakness.
"Yes, sweetheart?" she replied, softening her voice.
Clara stepped closer, hesitant. "Will Daddy come back?"
The question, simple yet devastating, suspended time. Émilie felt her breath catch. How could she explain to a child that some absences were permanent? How could she make her understand that a man could turn his back on what he had helped build, choosing ambition over family?
She gently stroked her daughter's brown hair and whispered,
"Daddy… Daddy won't be coming back. But I will always be here. Always."
Clara nodded, as if she understood, then snuggled against her. In that contact, Émilie found the strength to breathe again.
---
The next morning, the alarm rang before dawn. The rain had stopped, and the pale light of day filtered through the curtains. Émilie slipped out of bed, her heart already heavy with the day ahead. Before getting ready, she went to Clara's room.
The child was still asleep, a strand of hair across her forehead, lips slightly parted in peaceful breath. Émilie smiled despite herself. She leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her cheek.
"Wake up, my princess. We have to get ready for school."
Clara stirred, groaning, then opened her eyes. "Five more minutes…" she mumbled.
Émilie laughed softly. "If you want hot chocolate, now's the time."
A few minutes later, the kitchen filled with the aroma of toasted bread and steaming cocoa. Sitting at the table, Clara ate enthusiastically, her legs swinging in the air, while Émilie watched in silence. This ritual, simple as it was, had become their anchor, their way of holding on through the storms.
After breakfast, they put on coats and scarves. Émilie took her daughter's hand and walked her to school a few blocks away. Along the way, cars were already piled up in traffic, their horns sounding like a chaotic symphony.
At the school gate, Clara turned to her mother.
"Will you pick me up tonight?" she asked, worried.
"Always," Émilie replied, planting a kiss on her forehead before watching her disappear into the playground.
---
The subway was crowded. Pressed between two passengers, Émilie let herself sway with the metallic rhythm and the acrid smell of the train. Her eyes were fixed on the advertisements above the windows, but her mind wandered elsewhere. Clara's laughter still echoed in her memory, reminding her why she had to keep going.
And yet, amidst this sea of strangers, she felt invisible. People hurried along, glued to their phones, prisoners of their daily routines. She, too, had that vacant look—the one of those who survive rather than live.
When she finally arrived at the communication agency, she straightened up. The glass doors opened before her, and with them, the feeling of entering an arena where every misstep would be scrutinized. Eyes turned, some fleeting, others insistent. The murmurs, barely hidden, followed her like a shadow.
The divorced woman. The one her husband left.
Émilie drew a deep breath and walked through the hall with dignity.
"Émilie!" called a deep voice behind her.
She turned, her heart skipping a beat.
A man stood there, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit. His presence demanded respect, yet his gaze carried a troubling familiarity. Years had passed, but she would have recognized those features anywhere.
"Adrien?" she whispered, incredulous.
Her childhood friend. The boy who once showed her the secret corners of the city, the one with whom she had shared her first dreams, and whom she had lost track of for over a decade.
But he was no longer that carefree young man. Before her stood an accomplished, respected, and formidable CEO.
Adrien gave a faint, almost nostalgic smile.
"It's been a long time, Émilie."
She froze, unable to find words. Past and present collided violently, and in the gaze of this man, she already sensed a promise: the possibility of a future she had never dared to imagine.