Gabriel
1200 Words
Étienne’s POV
He hadn't slept. Not really.
He’d drifted in and out of a restless half-sleep, waking each time Élise whimpered or shifted. The image replayed in loops: her small body trembling in that stranger’s arms, the shattered snow globe sparkling on the ground like broken memories.
But the stranger hadn’t felt like a stranger at all. Not in how she had caught Élise, not in how gently she spoke, not in the way she seemed to understand something without needing to be told.
And then—
“I’m Gabriel.”
He hadn’t used that name in years. That was his plan. It had fallen out of his mouth the moment he touched her hand.
It would have been okay, but for a heartbeat—just one—he almost said:
“I’m Étienne.”
It terrified him.
He didn’t trust people. Not strangers. Not neighbors. Not anyone beyond the handful of advisors who survived the political trenches with him. And this was not the moment to break his stand.
But when Amelia smiled at him in the cold, her cheeks flushed, holding Élise like she mattered— he felt something shift.
Something dangerous.
He pressed two fingers to his temple. He’d told her the truth, technically. His full name was Étienne Gabriel Moreau.
But using his middle name felt like hiding behind a half-shaded door—still himself, but out of sight.
Safer. Necessary. And yet… He’d almost stepped through the door fully.
Why her? Why did he feel a softness he didn’t expect, a pull toward someone he had spoken to for barely… what? Four minutes?
He shook his head. He was tired. Grieving. Vulnerable.
That had to be it.
A soft knock jolted him from his thoughts. Three gentle taps. He froze. Could it be her?
Only one person had a reason to knock at his door. He had barely spoken to anyone the whole six days he had been in town.
He opened it. And there she was.
Amelia stood on his small porch like a piece of winter sunlight—wrapped in a camel coat, a knitted scarf around her neck, her cheeks pink from the cold. Her eyes lifted to his, warm and bright.
“Hello… Gabriel.” Her smile was gentle. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Good morning Amelia” he said softly.
“I… brought something.”
She held out the snow globe. Except it wasn’t shattered anymore. The glass was whole again. The tiny house inside stood proudly beneath swirling white flakes.
He blinked.
“You fixed it?” His voice cracked. He didn’t care.
“I tried,” she said with a gentle shrug. “It took a lot of glue and patience… but I thought maybe she’d want it back.”
Emotion hit him so fast it almost knocked the air out of his lungs.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” she repeated—same words she’d said yesterday. Same softness. Same sincerity.
Before he could think, he stepped aside.
“Would you… like to come in?”
She hesitated only a fraction—then nodded.
Inside, Élise was on the rug with crayons scattered around her. The moment she saw Amelia, her eyes lit up—soft, cautious, but real.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Amelia said, kneeling beside her. “I brought this for you.”
She set the snow globe gently in front of her. Élise looked at it. Touched it. Then looked at Amelia, walked forward and—without hesitation this time—wrapped her arms around Amelia’s neck.
She whispered—barely audible:
“Merci.”
Étienne’s breath caught. It was the first word she had spoken since the accident.
Amelia blinked, stunned and delighted. “You’re welcome.”
He wasn’t sure when he stopped leaning against the doorway and started watching them with a feeling he couldn’t name.
They ended up having tea. Talking, laughing softly when Élise insisted Amelia draw with her. And for the first time in weeks, Étienne felt… something like normalcy. Later, Amelia wandered to the window as Élise napped curled on the couch.
“This village is beautiful,” she murmured, watching snow gather on the rooftops. “I can’t believe people actually get to live somewhere like this.”
“You say that as if your place is a punishment,” he teased softly.
“Are you from Beauvais?” she diverted. Taken.
His pulse skipped. He wasn’t ready for the truth. “I grew up… visiting often,” he said carefully. “Family ties.”
She nodded as if she understood more than he’d said.
“And you?” he asked. “You’re not French.”
“London,” she replied. “Born and raised.”
“That explains the accent,” he said.
She smiled. “Is that a good thing?”
“It is.” More than good, he thought. Disarming.
She looked at him a moment too long. He looked back. Something softened and tightened between them all at once. A vibration broke it. His phone buzzed on the counter. He stepped back instinctively, pulling it out just enough to glimpse the caller ID.
Palais Élysée – Cabinet.
Damn.
He forced his expression to stay neutral.
“I… I need to take this call,” he said quietly. “I’ll just be a moment.”
“Of course,” Amelia replied without worry, turning back to admire the snow.
He slipped out onto the small porch, closing the door behind him.
“Oui?”
“Mr. President,” his Chief of Staff began. “We need your decision on—”
“Keep your voice down,” he hissed softly, glancing back through the window to where Amelia was now softly tucking a blanket over Élise’s legs. “You’re on speaker?”
“No, sir. Apologies. We weren’t certain when we’d reach you.”
“Text me the brief.” He forced calm into his tone.
“I’ll review it tonight. For now, handle everything discreetly.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
He ended the call and exhaled, grounding himself before stepping back inside.
When he returned, Amelia looked up.
“Everything okay?” she asked, kind but not probing.
“Yes,” he said, easing back into the room, though his heart was still racing. “Just… work.”
She nodded and turned back to Élise. He watched her. The warmth she brought. The ease with which she fit into the little space that had felt suffocating yesterday. The way Élise leaned into her side without fear.
He didn’t understand it.
But he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Because for the first time since the accident—
the house didn’t feel empty.
Amelia rose reluctantly, glancing at the sleeping child.
“I should go. Thank you for the tea.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “For the snow globe… and for today.”
She stepped toward the door.
“Well, Gabriel… it was lovely meeting you properly.” His heart stuttered. He managed a faint smile.
“It was lovely meeting you too… Amelia.”
- Writer
