In the evening, the dim glow of candlelight reflects off wine glasses. Max and I are sharing a cosy dinner. The intimacy is warm, fragile, and real. Max's phone suddenly vibrates on the table. He hesitates, glancing at the screen—"Léa." It's that woman calling from France again. He exhales and picks up.
"Hello"
"Max… it's been a while." The woman over there on the phone sounded smooth and confident.
"Yep, so what ?"
"Oh, come on. Please don't pretend you don't understand what I mean. Did you think you could forget everything we had? "
"Who's calling?" I was curious.
"It's nothing. … give me a minute. "Max steps away from the table, his voice lowered. Moving toward the sofa.
" What do you want, Léa?"
"What do I want? Oh, Max, I think the real question is—does she know? Does she know
