Chapter 5 Chapitre 5

Ethan's calls were starting to become routine. She knew it was him before she even looked at the screen, that number that always appeared as the day drew to a close. Every time, she hesitated for a split second before rejecting it. But today, that hesitation didn't even last. She pressed the red button without thinking, like a mechanical gesture. He had had a whole part of her, but no more. And now, he didn't even seem to exist for her anymore. The weight of his absence had taken up so much space that there was no longer any room for the illusion of going back.

Yet he had promised her, for years, that he would be there. He had told her that nothing mattered more than their story, that he would never let her go. She had believed those words, she had clung to him, to his promises as if her life depended on it. But now, she realized that she had put her whole heart into something that, in the end, was only a mirage. It was easy to love someone when things were easy, when times were comfortable. But he, Ethan, had not been able to be there when she had needed him. He had not been able to see when she had lost herself in their lives, when she had faded away, believing that his love would be enough.

She stood up from her couch, a cold cup of coffee at her feet. It was late, but she was having trouble falling asleep. Maybe it was time to put everything back in its place, to return to this place that had marked the end of an era. She finally decided to come back home, to their old house. It was an impulsive decision, as if the air of this place could give her some clarity. After all, there were still things there. Some personal belongings, small objects that had marked moments she was not ready to completely erase.

The drive home didn't seem as long as she'd expected. She didn't feel excited or anxious. Just tired. Tired of it all. When she reached the door, there was no trace of what had been there. The house had been redone, like an empty shell. The fresh paint, the plants on the doorstep, the well-kept driveway... Everything looked new, as if the past had been wiped away with a brushstroke. She realized that it wasn't the house that had changed. It was her.

She rang the doorbell, waiting for him to open it. It wasn't the first time she'd come back here after they'd split up, but this time it was different. Maybe it was the certainty that there was nothing left to save. When the door opened, he didn't just look at her, he stared at her, as if waiting for her to be the same as before. He seemed to have aged a little, just a little. But there were no tears in his eyes, no regrets. He looked like someone who had accepted that it was all over. And yet, he'd had a whole life with her, a life that he seemed to have put aside, erased. He hadn't changed his gaze, but he wasn't the one he had been either.

- What are you here for? he finally asked, his voice lacking warmth.

She stood there, staring into his eyes, as if waiting for him to tell her something she hadn't heard yet. But there was nothing more. A heavy silence fell, and Lara felt smaller than ever. But she didn't move. She wasn't going to give in to the pain she was used to hiding. She took a breath and went into the house.

- I came to get my things, she said quietly.

Ethan stepped aside, letting her pass. He said nothing more. As if the emptiness between them had taken up all the space. They had lost themselves in a world where words no longer had a place.

She climbed the stairs, not really knowing what she was doing. Every room, every hallway still seemed to echo with their history. She entered the room they had shared. Everything was in its place, nothing had changed. She had never imagined that life here could go on without her. But apparently, it had. And so had Ethan.

She approached the dresser where she had left some clothes. Their memories were there, in the drawers, between the sheets and the old photos that were still lying around. But what struck her the most was the small photo frame on the bedside table. It was there, placed like a memory that one did not want to forget. The photo of the two of them, taken during one of their first trips together. She remembered that moment as if it were yesterday. They were young, carefree, convinced that nothing could ever separate them. But looking more closely, she noticed something that hurt her. Around him, there was no other face. Just the photo of the two of them. He had not changed the frame, he had not erased this memory. She suddenly felt lost. Why had he not replaced her? Why had he not let her go like she had done with him?

She slammed the drawer shut, standing up abruptly. She didn't need to see this. She wasn't the one who belonged here anymore, she wasn't the one who was supposed to be here. The idea of coming back to this house, of confronting him, of everything they had been, seemed absurd now. She'd had enough. She didn't need more answers, or more regrets. She turned one last time to the room, making sure she wouldn't forget anything.

When she went downstairs, he was there, at the entrance. He was looking at her, arms crossed, silent. He seemed to be observing her with an absent, almost pensive look. A look she had never seen in him before. A look that was mixed with pain. But she could no longer do anything for him. They were no longer the same.

- You are always free to come back, he said finally, as if it were a universal truth.

She shrugged, the words stuck in her throat. She wanted to answer him, to tell him that he didn't understand anything. That coming back would mean going back, and that she no longer wanted to turn this page. She had understood that he wouldn't come back, just as she would never come back. But she didn't have the strength to answer. She just put down her things, grabbed her coat and left without another word. She closed the door behind her, as if to seal this chapter once and for all.

As she crossed the street, she felt a release, a weight lift off her shoulders. It was over. And she knew, deep down, that she had made the right choice. She didn't need to go back to that house to know what she was worth. She already knew that her future lay elsewhere. And it was up to her, her alone, to build it.