The Mark of Chance••√•• Pure Love

chapitre : 12

The tears that had flowed throughout the journey home had washed nothing away. They had only dug the furrow of shame and terror deeper within Marina. She collapsed on the floor of her entryway, not even having the strength to reach the sofa. The cold of the tiles seeped through her jeans, but it was a trivial pain compared to the burn consuming her insides.

"I should have kept quiet," she sobbed into the apartment's silence. "I should have lied, invented a name, anything."

The words, once released, had become rabid dogs she could no longer catch. She imagined Léna's fury, that cold hatred that must now be spreading like an ink stain. And Chris… what would Chris say when he found out? From Léna, of course. She would deliver the news like plunging a knife, twisting the blade.

Her phone vibrated, breaking the heavy silence. The name that flashed made her shudder: DAD. She knew. She knew with a visceral certainty. Léna hadn't wasted any time. She answered, her hand clammy.

"Hello, Dad?"

The voice that answered was not her father's. It was a rumble, a hurricane of anger and disappointment.

"You! You dare to answer! My daughter, the goody-two-shoes, the guardian of morals! To end up pregnant like a slut, and what's more, with your sister's husband! It's an abomination! You have soiled our name, you have shattered this family!"

The words erupted, violent, incoherent. He spoke of shame, of sin, of what people would say. Marina listened, petrified, unable to get a word in.

"You will come here! Tomorrow morning! Don't keep me waiting, do you hear me? No excuses, no more lies. We are going to settle this matter once and for all."

He hung up without a goodbye. Marina remained prostrate on the floor, the receiver glued to her ear, hearing only the buzz of the dead line. The family trap was snapping shut around her.

••√••

The next morning, the day dawned gray and low, as if in mourning. Marina went to her parents' house, her body heavy as lead. Pushing open the door of the family home, a chilling sense of déjà vu washed over her. It was worse than she had imagined.

In the living room, the three of them sat in a circle like a tribunal. Her father, stiff and rigid in his armchair, hands clenched on the armrests, his face dark. Her mother, sitting beside him, eyes red-rimmed, wringing her hands on her knees, a picture of helpless distress. And Léna, opposite them, triumphant and vengeful, her gaze a sharp dagger aimed at Marina.

No greeting. No preamble.

"So," her father began in a cutting voice, "are you happy? Are you proud of the chaos you've sown? The shame you're casting on us?"

"Robert, please…" her mother attempted, her voice trembling. "She's pregnant, you mustn't… the stress…"

"BE QUIET, Anna!" her father thundered, turning on her. "It's because of your complacency, your softness with her, that we're in this situation! You never knew how to set limits for her!"

Léna then stood up, slowly, like a panther. Her smile was a grimace.

"Mom is right about one thing. Stress is not good for Marina, nor for… the child." She uttered the word with manifest disgust. "There is a simple way to end all this. To wash away our shame and allow Marina to start over on the right foot."

Marina felt a mortal cold run through her. She crossed her arms over her stomach, a purely instinctive gesture of protection.

"We need to get rid of that thing," Léna stated, her voice clear and cold.

Marina's world swayed. "No," she whispered.

"It's the only sensible solution," her father continued, nodding with frightening conviction. "A termination. It's clean, it's quick. We erase the mistake, and we never speak of it again. It will avoid a scandal that would tarnish us all."

"NO!" Marina cried, this time louder, clutching her stomach tighter, as if she could already feel them trying to rip her child from her. "No one touches my baby! I will never have an abortion!"

Léna let out a bitter laugh. "Your baby? Marina, open your eyes! It's not a baby, it's a bastard! The fruit of a grotesque accident! Do you really want to subject a child to that? A life of lies, of shame, of being the dirty secret of an entire family? Be selfish if you want, but think of him!"

"I am thinking of him!" Marina yelled, tears in her eyes, but her voice full of fierce determination. "I'm thinking of protecting him! From you! From your hatred and your pettiness!"

Her father stood up, scarlet. "How dare you? You're the petty one, the depraved one who slept with her sister's husband!"

"I did not sleep with him!" The cry erupted from her very core. "Don't you understand anything? It happened without anyone wanting it! But it happened, and it's MY child!"

Léna stepped closer, drilling her gaze into Marina's. "Listen to me, little sister. If you insist on keeping… that, then you can forget about your family. We won't see you again. You'll be alone. Completely alone to raise my husband's bastard."

The words were meant to break her. But instead, they ignited a pure, liberating anger within her. She straightened up, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

"If being alone means protecting my child from you, then I choose to be alone a thousand times over!" Her voice no longer trembled. "You can keep your husband, Léna. I'm not stealing him from you. I don't want him. All I want is my child. You have nothing to fear from me, except perhaps my contempt."

She looked at her father, then at her mother who was weeping silently.

"I'm leaving. And don't expect me to come back. My child doesn't need a family that sees him as a mistake to be erased."

With those words, she turned on her heel and left the house, leaving behind her father's stunned silence, her mother's sobs, and her sister's murderous gaze.

Outside, the fresh air felt like the air of freedom. A freedom wrested through pain, paid for with the high price of exile. But as she placed her hand on her stomach, she felt a new determination. She was alone, yes. But she was no longer a victim. She was a bulwark. And for the first time, she was perfectly, terribly, at peace with her choice. The war had been declared, but she now knew its borders.