Before Our Dawn| ongoing

fifty-six

Chapitre cinquante-six
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As the days gave way to weeks, an unspoken frost seemed to envelop the household, an eerie chill that had little to do with the shifting seasons. Marcel had transformed into a mere wraith, a spectral presence whose very essence seemed to bring a glacial draft into the rooms he aimlessly roamed. His words, once vibrant and full of life, had dwindled to scarce, clipped utterances—distant echoes that fell short of bridging the ever-widening chasm between him and those around him. He couldn't bring himself to consider Klaus and Heidi his family. His heart ached with the memory of his biological daughter, Sophie. The sight of Klaus and Heidi stirred a tempest of resentment within him, a seething ire towards their father and the Germans who had wreaked havoc upon his once serene existence.

Isra watched her husband retreat further into his shell, each day a little more lost to her. She tried to reach him with words, with touch, with shared memories, but it was like whispering to the wind. Klaus and Heidi sensed the change as well, tiptoeing around Marcel, their bright laughter dimmed, their playful spirits subdued by the pall of his silence.

Klaus would sometimes leave drawings by Marcel's chair—scenes of sunshine and family outings, hopeful colors that lay untouched, fading as the days passed. Heidi, with the intuition of the young, often climbed into his lap, her small arms attempting to encircle the fortress of his sorrow, her head resting against his chest. She had grown especially attached to Marcel, regarding him as the father she never had.

The dinner table turned into a silent arena, where the clinking of cutlery spoke louder than words. Isra had prepared Marcel's favourite dishes, but they remained untouched, growing cold as he merely pushed the food around his plate, his thoughts far away, consuming him more than any meal could. At night, Isra would listen to Marcel pacing in the living room, the soft tread of his footsteps a melancholy lullaby of longing and loss. She lay in bed, her heart aching, yearning for the warmth of the man who had once filled her life with love and laughter.

Often during the day, Marcel secluded himself in his home office, surrounded by reminders of his former self. The walls were lined with medical textbooks, and cabinets overflowed with medical files. He sat at his desk, the familiar scent of old paper and ink enveloping him as he attempted to immerse himself in the world of medicine once more.

Klaus, ever curious about Marcel's world, tiptoed into the room, his young eyes wide with wonder. "Hello, Monsieur. What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Marcel replied flatly, flipping a page.

"Maman told me you were a doctor, and that I had a sister before Heidi." Klaus marched up to Marcel's desk, peering at him with sparkling hazel eyes that made Marcel's insides churn—they weren't his eyes.

"You did," Marcel confirmed. "Half-sister. Sophie."

"Where is Sophie?"

Marcel, already struggling with the flood of memories each file brought, felt a surge of irritation at the interruption. "Klaus, not now," he said, his voice sharper than he intended.

But Klaus persisted. "But I want to know where she is and why I haven't seen her yet."

Marcel's patience, worn thin by it all, snapped. "I said not now, Klaus! Can't you see I'm busy? I need to focus, and I can't do that with you pestering me with endless questions. You're not even my real son, so stop pretending we have some special bond!" The harsh words left his mouth before he could stop them.

Klaus recoiled as if struck, his face crumpling, tears welling up in his eyes. He stumbled backward, fleeing the room, his small frame shaking with sobs. Marcel could hear voices, the little boy's cries, and seconds later, Isra appeared, her eyes flashing with protective fury.