Chapter 4 Shattered Dreams

The morning light filtered through the Marais apartment's windows, but the warmth couldn't reach Ariane. She stood in the kitchen, her hands trembling as she poured tea, the shards of the broken glass from last night still scattered on the floor. Her Ivorian bangle clinked softly against the cup, a fragile tether to Abidjan's safety. She touched her stomach, whispering a silent promise to her unborn child: I'll protect you. But fear gnawed at her-Olivier's wild eyes, his roar, the glass shattering like her dreams.

Olivier emerged from the bedroom, his face a mask of irritation. "You didn't clean this up?" he snapped, kicking a shard with his polished shoe.

"What do you do all day, Ariane?"

"I-I was going to," she stammered, stepping back. Her voice was small, her body tense. "I just... I didn't sleep well."

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "You're always making excuses, that is what you are good at" he said, his voice low but venomous.

He stepped closer, looming over her. "I'm under enough pressure without you dragging me down. You can't even handle a simple task, or yourself."

Ariane's heart raced, her hands shielding her stomach instinctively. "Please, Olivier, let's not fight," she pleaded. "I'm pregnant, we need to be careful."

His face twisted, a flash of rage igniting. "Careful now?" he roared. "You think I need your reminders? You're the one who's a mess!"

He grabbed her arm, his grip bruising, and shoved her hard. Ariane stumbled backward, her hip slamming into the counter before she fell to the floor with a cry. Pain shot through her, sharp and searing, radiating from her abdomen. She gasped, clutching her stomach, terror flooding her as she felt a warm trickle between her legs.

"Olivier..." she whispered, her voice breaking, but he was already storming out, muttering curses under his breath. The door slammed, leaving her alone, curled on the cold floor, her bangle glinting through her tears. The pain grew, a cruel wave, and darkness crept at the edges of her vision as she fumbled for her phone, dialling for help.

Hours later, Ariane woke in a sterile hospital room, the beep of a monitor a hollow rhythm. A doctor's voice echoed in her memory: "I'm so sorry... there was nothing we could do." Her baby was gone. Grief crashed over her, a huge wave that stole her breath. She turned her head, tears soaking the pillow, her bangle a cold weight on her wrist. She longed for Awa's embrace and Yasmine's laughter, wishing her family was by her side to comfort her. Paris was a nightmare, and her fairy tale lay in ruins.

A nurse entered, her eyes kind but distant. "Your husband was informed," she said softly. "He hasn't come." Ariane's chest tightened, the words a confirmation of what she'd feared: Olivier didn't care. Her marriage wasn't love, it was a prison, and her loss was the price. She couldn't stay, not like this. She imagined the nursery she'd never paint, the tiny clothes she'd never fold, her dreams of motherhood slipping away like the Seine's current.

As the nurse's words hung in the air, Ariane's mind swirled with a strom of thoughts, each one clawing for dominance. Grief and anger wrestled with despair, while the weight of her reality threatened to consume her. The silence that followed was oppressive, interrupted only by the beeping of machines and the soft hum of the hospital's fluorescent lights.

In Abidjan, Yasmine burst into Awa's room, her phone trembling in her hand. "Maman, it's Ariane, she's in the hospital," she said, her voice breaking. "She was pregnant and has lost the baby. They said it was a fall, but I know it's him. We have to do something."

Awa's face hardened, her hands gripping the edge of her vanity. "My daughter," she whispered, her voice thick with pain. She stood, her emerald kaftan sweeping the floor, her resolve steel. "Enough. We'll talk to her and suggest getting her a place of her own; my child cannot be far from me and in danger. I feel like I'm failing her, I feel helpless, like I'm not doing enough. We'll give her everything she needs, every comfort she deserves."

Yasmine nodded, tears in her eyes. "Yes, Maman. She needs us now more than ever."

Awa placed a hand on Yasmine's shoulder, her voice steady. "We'll bring her home if we must.

Back in the hospital, Ariane stared at the ceiling, her grief a heavy shroud. The city of lights outside her window felt like a cruel mockery, its glow unreachable. She clutched her bangle, tracing its patterns, whispering Awa's name like a prayer. Her dreams of family were gone, and her marriage was a lie. What was left?

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table, Yasmine's name lighting up the screen. Ariane hesitated, her hand shaking as she answered. "Yasmine... oh, Maman," she whispered, her voice raw, hearing both their voices on the call.

"Ariane, oh, Ari," Yasmine's voice cracked, tears evident. "We are here for you. Maman and I... we're getting you an apartment of your own in Paris, away from him. We're ready to support whatever steps you want to take next. You're not alone."

Awa's voice came through, firm but warm. "I want you to be strong and always know that I love you. After securing an apartment of your own when you're out of the hospital, we would talk about your fashion dreams. Get well, my Ariane, we love you."

Ariane's breath hitched, her voice trembling as fresh tears welled up. Her family's love wrapped around her like a warm embrace, a stark contrast to the cold hospital walls. Yet the weight of her decision pressed down, what would leaving Olivier mean? Could she reclaim her dreams, or would fear hold her back?

Her breath caught, a sob escaping her lips. An apartment, my fashion career, a chance to escape Olivier-a faint glimmer of hope in her darkness. But as she looked at the empty hospital room, Olivier's absence a gaping wound, she wondered if she had the strength to take it.