The Mark of Chance••√•• Pure Love

chapitre : 19

The hours following the furious departure of Chris and Léna were filled with heavy silences and subtle tremors. Marina, sitting on the sofa wrapped in the blanket Paul had given her, stared into space. The shock was giving way to a strange lucidity, cold and sharp as a blade. The fear was still there, lurking in her belly beside the child, but a new, more solid sensation was emerging from the wreckage: a cold anger, and an iron resolve.

Paul, meanwhile, was in perpetual motion. He had locked the door, drawn the curtains, made tea she hadn't touched. His nervous energy sought an outlet in action.

"We can't stay here," he finally said, stopping in front of her. "They know the address. Léna… she's capable of anything. We move. Somewhere else in Quebec, farther, another province. We disappear again."

The words echoed in the living room. Disappear. Flee. Words that had been her oxygen for months. But hearing them now, spoken by Paul, they felt like a capitulation.

"No."

The word was calm, but it cut through Paul's agitation. He looked at her, surprised.

"Marina, you saw her face. She won't let this go."

"I saw her, yes," she replied, looking up at him. "And I heard her. She wants to scare me. She wants to force me to run. Always running. From town to town, country to country, like a criminal. As if I were the problem."

She stood up, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. Her round belly, the center of this whole storm, was a pronounced weight.

"I'm not running anymore, Paul. This house… it's not much. But it's my first real home. The one I chose. The one where I imagined my child growing up. I won't let it be tainted by her hatred. If anyone has to flee, it's her. Her and her madness. Not me. Not us."

Paul contemplated her, this woman he had first known broken, curled in on herself, now standing straight, her eyes dry and shining with a light he didn't recognize. A warrior's glint.

"It's dangerous," he objected, more gently. "She's unpredictable."

"Then we protect ourselves. But we don't flee. We take measures. The police, as you said. Cameras. A lawyer, perhaps. But we stay. We put down our roots here. For good."

She approached him, seeking his gaze. "You offered me a refuge, Paul. A haven. I don't want this haven to be a hiding place anymore. I want it to be a home. Our home."

The "our" had come out naturally, without her thinking. It resonated between them, charged with all possible nuances. Paul felt his heart leap with a painful hope.

"Are you sure?" he murmured. "This is a fight you're choosing. A fight we are choosing."

"I've never been more sure of anything," she said with a conviction that came from her very core. "I'm tired of being afraid. Tired of letting others decide my life. My son's life."

Paul nodded slowly. He saw the determination in her, and he knew he could not, and did not want to, contradict her. His own fear for her turned into deep respect.

"Alright," he said. "Then we fight. But we fight together. Every decision, we make it together. And I promise you, Marina, I swear on everything I hold sacred, that I will not abandon you. Not now, not in ten years, not ever. All I want is to see you happy, you and this little one. And if your happiness is to plant your flag here and face the storm, then I will be your first soldier."

The words were so absolute, so laden with a devotion that went far beyond friendship, that it took Marina's breath away. A wave of gratitude and something else, more vertiginous, overwhelmed her. It frightened her. It was too much. Too beautiful to be true. Too solid not to break one day.

"Paul…," she began, her voice trembling. "Why? Why are you doing all this? You could have a simple, normal life, with a woman who doesn't drag behind her a trail of drama and a baby who…"

He cut her off by gently placing a finger on her lips. The contact was brief, electric.

"Don't finish that sentence," he said, his gaze plunging into hers with an intensity that made her shiver. "I do all this because it's you. Because from the first day I saw you, sad and alone at the coffee machine, I knew I would do anything to see that light return to your eyes. Because loving you, Marina, isn't a choice, it's an inevitability. Even if that love, for you, is only friendship. Even if it never becomes anything else."

He lowered his hand, a sad smile on his lips.

"Love, real love, isn't a contract with expectations. It's a gift. It's being present. It's making sacrifices without counting them, because the other's happiness becomes more important than your own. So don't worry that I'll get tired, or that I'll leave. My heart is anchored here, with you. Period."

The tears she had held back throughout the confrontation finally welled up, silent and warm. They weren't tears of fear or sadness, but of a profound upheaval, of a recognition so total it was painful. She let herself lean against him, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. He held her, resting his cheek against her hair, and they stayed like that, standing in the middle of the living room, united against a world that wished them harm.

In the days that followed, the house transformed into a gentle fortress. Paul installed discreet cameras, changed the locks, met with a lawyer specializing in family law and harassment. Marina, for her part, made an appointment with the local police to file a complaint against Léna for harassment and threats, armed with screenshots of the messages and Paul's testimony about the intrusion.

She felt a new strength carrying her. The decision to stop running had freed her from an immense weight. And Paul's unconditional love was the foundation on which she was rebuilding her confidence.

One evening, as they were preparing dinner together, she watched him peel carrots with a touching concentration. The soft kitchen light played on his features. She felt a sudden surge of tenderness, so sharp it tightened her heart.

"Paul?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you… do you think love can be born from gratitude?"

He set down his knife and turned to her, wiping his hands.

"I think gratitude can open a door," he said softly. "But what comes through that door… only the heart knows."

She nodded, pensive. "I'm afraid of confusing them. Of mistaking my immense gratitude towards you for… something else. And of hurting you."

"Marina," he said, stepping closer, "you couldn't hurt me by being honest about your feelings, whatever they are. I love you enough to wait. I love you enough to accept that it may never be reciprocated in the same way. You owe me no debt."

It was too much grace. Too much kindness. She felt a crack form in the wall she had built around her heart. A crack through which filtered, timid but tenacious, a feeling that had nothing to do with gratitude towards a savior, and everything to do with the recognition of a man, in all his patience, his quiet strength, and his absolute devotion.

The twist came a week later, not in the form of another attack from Léna, but through a registered letter. Marina's lawyer emailed it to them after receiving it.

It was a formal demand. From Chris Durand.

Through his lawyer, he was demanding recognition of his paternity and visitation rights upon birth. The letter was cold, legal, citing articles of law. It explained that he was providing substantial financial support (the transfers were proof) and that he intended to assume his legal responsibilities.

But the most chilling part was the postscript, added by hand, in handwriting she recognized: "I cannot let you raise him alone, Marina. He is mine. I must do what is right. Do not push me away. – C."

Chris wasn't fleeing. Under Léna's threats, he had chosen another path: that of the law. He was fighting to insert himself into their lives, to claim his share of this child. This was no longer hysterical madness; it was a cold, legal battle, and perhaps even more dangerous.

Marina looked at Paul, her face pale. The battle was only beginning, and it had just shifted terrain. She wouldn't only have to face her sister's hatred, but also the seemingly legitimate claims of the man she had loved. And in the middle of it all, there was Paul, who loved her without measure, and her own heart, increasingly confused, torn between a toxic past and a present of dazzling loyalty.

The decision to stop fleeing had just taken on a new dimension. They would not only have to hold their ground, but also fight on a battlefield far more complex than she had imagined. And at the center of it all was her child, whose destiny was now being played out between the madness of an aunt, the remorse of a biological father, and the silent love of a man who, in the eyes of the law, was nobody.