I wait for more. An explanation. A denial. For God’s sake, something.
He stands. The movement is abrupt, almost violent in its economy. “Excuse me.”
He doesn’t wait for my response. He just walks toward the front of the plane, past the bar area, and disappears into the bedroom. The door slams closed.
I sit there, stunned by how fast that just happened. Eighteen years in the ground, Kir told me. And my father’s the one who put her there.
I stare at the door he vanished through. Part of me wants to follow. The rest of me knows better.
Avis aux Habitants — 29 novembre 2025
- Un homme que nous connaissons trop bien
- Une femme qui ressemble à celle d'avant
- La même robe blanche à fleurs bleues
- Les mêmes yeux tristes
[L'histoire se répète. Nous prions pour qu'elle se termine différ
