— No. It is nothing. I’m just tired.
“That is not normal.
“Elise, you’re already working too hard. Thomas too. Don’t add that.
When I told Thomas about it, he answered me in a tone that wanted to reassure me:
Madeleine is exhausted. She takes care of Clara all day. She just needs rest, that’s all.
I wanted to believe it.
But something in me refused to calm down.
One afternoon, I came home earlier than I expected. My meeting was canceled at the last minute, and I decided to surprise Clara.
When I opened the door, I found my mother sitting on the couch, her face pale, her two hands clenched on her stomach.
Clara was playing on her wake-up rug, silent, as if she had understood that it should not be disturbed.
“Mom!
I rushed to her.
His forehead was cold. His lips were trembling.
What do you have?
Nothing… a little discomfort.
I looked at her.
And that horrible thought crossed my mind.
I knew that belly.
I had carried Clara. I knew what a changing body looked like, a rounded belly, a silhouette that takes that precise shape.
But my mother was over fifty years old.
My father had been dead for years.
That was impossible.
Absurd.
Shameful even thinking about it.
So I chased this idea.
But she came back.
In the evening, I told Thomas.
He immediately stiffened.
Do you realize what you are implying?
“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just saying that her stomach…
She’s your mother, Elise.
— Precisely. She is my mother. And I can see that she is hiding something.
Thomas sighed, annoyed.
You are exhausted. You mix everything up.
The conversation stopped there.
But the silence that followed scared me even more than his words.
The next day, we had to take him to the doctor.
But Thomas received an urgent call from his firm, and I was called to La Défense for a meeting with an important client.
My mother insisted:
“Go to work. I’m better.
So we left.
And I left with a weight in my chest.
The next few days, I started watching it in spite of myself.
I saw her standing by the window, looking at the street, a hand resting on her stomach.
I saw her quickly storing boxes of medicine in her bag when I entered the kitchen.
I asked him what it was.
She responded:
— Vitamins.
But his voice was not natural.
Then I started to imagine things I hated to imagine.
Maybe she had met someone in Marseille.
Maybe she had hidden a relationship from me.
Maybe my father wasn’t far enough in his memory for me, but he was already far for her.
And this thought filled me with a dirty, unjust anger, which I did not dare to name.
Until that night.
It was a little over midnight. I was still in front of my computer, finishing a file for the next day. Thomas was already asleep.
La caméra du babyphone s’est allumée sur mon téléphone.
Clara bougeait dans son lit.
Je l’ai ouverte machinalement.
Et là, j’ai vu ma mère.
Elle était dans la chambre de Clara, penchée près du berceau, une main agrippée au mur. Son visage était déformé par la douleur.
Puis elle a porté les deux mains à son ventre.
Elle a reculé de quelques pas.
Elle a vacillé.
Et elle est sortie de la chambre en titubant.
Mon cœur s’est arrêté.
Je me suis levée d’un bond et j’ai couru dans le couloir.
La porte de la salle de bain était entrouverte.
À l’intérieur, ma mère était à genoux devant les toilettes, vomissant violemment, son corps secoué de tremblements.
Elle semblait si faible qu’elle pouvait s’effondrer à tout instant.
Toute la peur que je gardais depuis des semaines a explosé.
Mais ce n’est pas la peur qui est sortie de ma bouche.
C’est la cruauté.
— Qu’est-ce que tu as fait, maman ?
Elle a lentement tourné la tête vers moi.
Ses yeux étaient rouges, fatigués, mais étrangement calmes.
This calm has made me even more crazy.
— Tu n’as pas honte ? Papa est mort, et maintenant ça ?
Les mots sont sortis avant que je puisse les retenir.
— Tu pensais que je ne verrais rien ? Tu croyais pouvoir rester ici, chez moi, avec ce ventre, en faisant comme si tout était normal ?
Elle n’a pas répondu.
Thomas, réveillé par mes cris, est arrivé derrière moi.
— Élise, arrête…
Mais je ne pouvais plus m’arrêter.
— Qu’est-ce que les gens vont dire ? Que ma mère est venue garder ma fille à Paris pendant qu’elle cachait une grossesse ? Tu voulais nous humilier ?
Ma mère s’est redressée avec difficulté.
Elle a posé une main tremblante sur son ventre.
Puis elle m’a regardée.
Longtemps.
Et d’une voix basse, presque brisée, elle a dit :
— Si tu savais ce qu’il y a vraiment là-dedans, tu ne m’aurais jamais parlé comme ça.
À cet instant, un froid terrible m’a traversé le corps.
Parce que, pour la première fois, j’ai compris que la vérité pouvait être bien pire que tout ce que j’avais imaginé.
PART 2
