The Mark of Chance••√•• Pure Love

chapitre : 10

One month. Thirty days carrying both sunshine and a cyclone within her. Thirty nights waking in a sweat, her hand already on her stomach, seeking to soothe the tiny being growing inside her a being that already reminded her every second of the impossible truth. A month of living in weightlessness, cut off from the world, her secret forming a leaden bubble around her. Only Paul penetrated this bubble. He had become her pillar, her accomplice. He brought her vitamins, books on pregnancy, and most importantly, his simple, reassuring presence. He asked no questions, demanded nothing. He was just there. Sometimes, in the evening, she would look at him and wonder if accepting his proposal wouldn't be the wisest, cleanest solution. A normal life, a substitute father, a comfortable lie to hide a scandal.

But she couldn't keep this secret forever. She knew it. It was like carrying a time bomb in her womb. Each passing day made the explosion more inevitable, more violent. The child would manifest sooner or later, and the whole world would see her belly rounding, would question the father's absence. She had to get ahead of it. Control the narrative, as much as possible.

Her choice fell upon her mother. Anna. A gentle, somewhat naive woman, whose love for her daughters was visceral. Telling her face-to-face was a matter of respect. And besides, with her mother, she might be able to dodge, to lie with tenderness. A confrontation with Léna at this stage... a confrontation with Léna would have made her lose the baby, overwhelmed by the stress. No, her mother was the only option.

She called to arrange a meeting, pretending a sudden desire to have lunch together, a need for a mother-daughter reunion. Anna's voice on the phone was joyful, full of the warmth Marina missed so much.

When the day came, looking at herself in the hallway mirror, she chose a loose, soft jersey dress that betrayed nothing. Her stomach was still flat, but she felt as if the truth shone from it like a neon sign. She took a deep breath, feeling breakfast rise in her throat.

Her parents' house smelled of beeswax and the cake cooling on the kitchen table. A scent of childhood, of safety. For a moment, Marina felt small again, protected from the dramas of the adult world.

"My darling!" Anna drew her into a warm, lilac-scented embrace. "It's so good to see you. You look... rested."

A white lie. Marina forced a smile. "The weekend is doing me good."

They settled in the living room with tea. The conversation was light, revolving around neighbors, village news. But Marina felt her mother's gaze on her, attentive, a little too sharp. A mother always senses her children's troubles, even past thirty.

"And you, sweetie, are you really okay? You seem... preoccupied."

This was the moment. The plunge. Marina set her cup down with a slight tremble in her hand. The faint clink of porcelain on the saucer seemed deafening to her.

"Mom, I have... I have something to tell you."

Anna's face lit up with an immediate smile, anticipating the words. "Yes?"

"I... I'm pregnant."

The silence that followed was brief but intense. Anna's eyes misted over instantly, and a broad smile spread across her face. She jumped up to hug her daughter tightly.

"Marina! But that's... that's wonderful! Such wonderful news!"

She held her close, rocking her gently. Marina let herself be held, feeling suddenly incredibly fragile. Her mother's joy was so pure, so innocent, it hurt. It was the first truly happy reaction since this nightmare began.

"My baby is having a baby," Anna sobbed with joy. "I can't believe it! I've been waiting for this news for so long... Well, I'd rather hoped for it from... Well, never mind! I'm so happy for you!"

Marina felt the trap closing. The unfinished sentence, "rather from Léna," hung in the air like a threatening reminder.

When they sat back down, Anna's hands clasping Marina's, the questions began, inevitable, like waves after the calm.

"But tell me everything! How long have you known? Are you feeling well? Have you seen a doctor? And..." Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and excitement. "And the father? Who is this lucky man? Where does he work? What's his family like? Do I know him?"

Each question was a nail in the coffin of her lie. Marina felt a flush of heat rise to her face. She had to stay calm. Neutral. Not tremble, not look away.

"Mom, listen..." She adopted a soft but firm voice. "I'll answer all your questions, I promise. But not today. Not right now."

Anna's face froze, the smile fading to be replaced by worried perplexity. "What do you mean, not today? Marina, he's the father of your child."

"I know. And that's why I'm asking you to trust me." She looked her mother straight in the eye, trying to draw from it a strength she didn't have. "All I can tell you is that he's a good man. An honest and kind man."

The words burned her tongue. Honest. Chris, who was living a lie. Full of kindness. Chris, whose cowardice had allowed this situation.

"He's not... married, is he?" Anna whispered, a sudden fear in her voice.

The question struck Marina in the chest. She flinched imperceptibly. "No, Mom. He's not married." Not free, either. Not really.

"Then why the mystery? If he's so wonderful, why hide him?" Anna's worry was turning into suspicion.

Marina felt panic clawing at her throat. She needed an exit. A promise. A decoy.

"The situation is... delicate. Professionally. For him. Things need to be done in the right order. He wants to take responsibility, fully. He would be willing to sacrifice everything for our child, you can believe me. But for now, silence is necessary."

As she spoke, she no longer knew if she was lying or expressing a deep wish, an alternative truth. Chris was good, deep down. He was honest in his love for her. And he would have sacrificed everything if fear and a misplaced sense of duty hadn't paralyzed him. She wasn't describing reality, but the potential. The man he could have been. The man she perhaps still hoped he would become.

"Sacrifice everything..." Anna repeated, pensively. That phrase seemed to have touched her, soothed her. She probably imagined the story of a secret, intense love, perhaps a charming boss, a public figure needing to protect his career. Her imagination was working for Marina.

"Alright, my dear," she finally said with a sigh. "I won't press you. A grandmother must know how to be patient." She squeezed her daughter's hand again. "But promise me one thing. Promise me you're not alone in this. That this man... that he respects you and will protect you."

"I promise, Mom," murmured Marina, her heart heavy as stone.

Leaving the house a few hours later, clutching the wrapped cake and maternal advice, Marina felt exhausted. She had crossed a threshold. Her mother knew. Part of the burden was shared, but a new, more complex lie had been woven. She had painted an idealized portrait of the father, a knight without armor or name, ready for sacrifice.

Looking out the car window, she wondered once more where the line was between a protective lie and the expression of a mad hope. Had she lied to her mother to protect herself, or to create, for the duration of an afternoon, the reality she secretly dreamed of? A reality where Chris was the "honest and kind" man, ready to do anything for her and their child.

The road ahead was long and dark. But for the first time since she had told her mother the news, a tiny seed of hope had germinated in the arid soil of her secret. A dangerous hope, certainly. But it was hers.