Until my Last Breath

47

The door swings open the moment I reach it.

Pascale stands there, framed by the warm glow of the hallway light, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

She takes one look at me-just one-and she knows.

She doesn't ask why I'm here. She doesn't ask what's wrong.

She simply steps forward, arms already reaching for me.

And I let myself fall into her embrace.

A shaky breath escapes me as I press my face into her shoulder, and before I can stop it, my entire body crumples.

Pascale holds me tighter. One hand cradles the back of my head, her fingers threading gently through my hair, the other pressing firmly against my back, anchoring me.

She hums, a soft, soothing sound, the way my mother used to when I was a child and had woken from a nightmare.

Tears spill freely, soaking into her sweater. My breath hitches, my shoulders tremble, and I cling to her like she's the only thing keeping me upright.

"Oh mon pauvre Riri," she murmurs, voice thick with something that makes my chest ache even more.

Behind me, I hear the car door shut. The engine hums softly, idling.

Alex and Kika.

They don't say anything. They don't call out or ask if I'm okay.

They know I need this.

So they leave.

Pascale lets me cry. She doesn't rush me, doesn't shush me. She simply holds me, steady and unwavering, until the shuddering in my shoulders slows, until my breathing evens just enough for her to gently guide me inside.

The warmth of her home wraps around me like a second embrace. The familiar scent of vanilla and fresh linen lingers in the air, grounding me.

She leads me to the couch, easing me down before disappearing briefly into the kitchen. When she returns, she presses a glass of water into my trembling hands.

I stare at it.

I don't drink.

Pascale settles beside me, hands folded in her lap. She waits, patient as ever, her gaze soft yet unreadable.

Then, finally-

"Talk to me, ma chérie."

I exhale shakily, tightening my grip around the glass.

"I don't know where to start."

Her expression doesn't change, but something in her eyes softens even more.

"Wherever you need to."

I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head.

"I'm so lost," I admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Pascale doesn't react-not outwardly-but I know she hears the weight behind my words.

I take another breath.

And then, slowly-

I tell her everything.

She listens intently as I tell her all about him.

About the way we met. About the moments in between, the small things that shouldn't matter as much as they do, but somehow do. About the way he stood up for me against Darwin. About how he showed up when I had buried myself at home, too lost in my grief to breathe.

I tell her about the kiss.

About how it felt like something I wasn't ready for, yet something I never wanted to let go of.