71| France

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As the car winds through the familiar streets of rural France, the landscape hasn't changed—endless fields of lavender, quaint cottages dotting the countryside—but my heart feels heavier with every mile

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As the car winds through the familiar streets of rural France, the landscape hasn't changed—endless fields of lavender, quaint cottages dotting the countryside—but my heart feels heavier with every mile. I haven't been back to Lionel's house in what feels like ages, and the thought of seeing everyone again brings a mix of warmth and a deep ache. They were Addy's family, but in many ways, they've always been mine, too. And yet, the shadow of her absence hovers over everything.

I need to see how they're doing. Lionel, André, Amélia, and Raphael... especially Amélia. She and Addy were inseparable, and I know she hasn't moved on. How could she, really? I haven't fully either.

The car pulls up to the stone house, its familiar charm unchanged despite the time that has passed. There's a stillness around the property, a quiet that doesn't quite belong. The house used to feel so full of life, but now, even the trees seem to have lost some of their vibrancy.

I take a deep breath and step out, heading toward the front door with a strange mixture of anticipation and dread. I knock softly, and after a moment, Lionel opens the door. He looks older, more tired than I remember, but his face breaks into a smile when he sees me.

"Adri!" he says warmly, pulling me into a hug that's both familiar and bittersweet. "It's been too long, ma fille."my daughter

I hug him back, tighter than I intend, because I've missed them all more than I realized. "It really has. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to visit."

He waves it off, though I can see a flicker of sadness behind his eyes. "You're here now. That's what matters. Come in, come in."

I step inside, and the memories hit me like a wave. The house smells the same, the same warm, comforting scent of home-cooked meals and lavender, but it feels emptier somehow. The laughter that used to echo through these walls is gone, and the weight of Addy's absence settles heavily over everything.

Lionel leads me to the sitting room, where Amélia is curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around her despite the warmth in the room. When she sees me, her face softens into a sad smile, but there's a distance in her eyes that wasn't there before. She stands up slowly and comes over to hug me, her touch light, almost fragile.

"Hi, Adri," she whispers, her voice so quiet it nearly breaks my heart. "It's good to see you again."

I hug her back, holding on for a second longer than I normally would. "It's good to see you too, Amélia. I've missed you."

She nods but doesn't say much else. Her movements are slow, like she's drifting through the days, not really present. It's painfully clear she's still not over Addy's loss—and I'm not sure she ever will be. The love they had was the kind of thing that consumes you, and I can see now that she's still consumed by it, still living in the shadow of what they had.

I sit with her on the couch, the silence between us filled with the things we don't say. I want to ask how she's been, how she's really been, but I'm not sure I'm ready to hear the answer.

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