I had settled him onto the sofa of his cavernous living room—a space so vast it suddenly seemed to underscore his extreme vulnerability. With a weak gesture, Cody pointed toward the kitchen. I brought him water, helped him drink, and then knelt to remove his shoes. I could already hear him snoring lightly.
A sound so childlike it brought a sigh to the edge of my lips. He was adorable, and that was precisely where the danger lay.
As I tried to slip away quietly, his hand closed over mine. He had sat up, his gaze heavy with a silent expectation that pierced right through me.
—Don't go, he whispered. Please, Katrine.
My intuition was screaming at me to run, but my heart felt like it weighed a ton. Had this been two years earlier, I would have given in without a second thought, losing myself in the comfort of the moment. I gently placed my hand against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingers.
I leaned in slowly. His pink lips were trembling, parted, and I could read him like an open book: he was hoping for a promise I could no longer keep.
I settled for a light kiss, almost chaste, upon his forehead.
—I can't play with you anymore, Cody. I don't have the right anymore,I whispered with a smile I hoped was soothing.
He bit his lower lip. The sight made my heart ache, but I had learned not to let empathy dictate my mistakes. I refused to hurt him further with marks of affection that were, in truth, nothing more than a temporary reprieve. Without another word, stifling the apology burning in my throat, I stood up and left the house. I knew, with that absolute certainty that often defines me, that our paths would never cross again.
The Uber ride was a long tunnel of silence. I watched the city lights flicker past, my mind already turned toward the future. When I arrived at my building, the elevator was still broken. I climbed the three flights of stairs on foot, each step marking the rupture with my present life a little more deeply.
Once the door was unlocked, the emptiness welcomed me. My eyes fell on the boxes stacked in the shadows of the hallway. Tomorrow, I would change my scenery, my time zone, my life. I had already decided to give everything away to charit. I wanted to leave light, without material anchors.
It was time to get back to basics. It was time to go home to Brooklyn.
I collapsed onto the sofa that served as my bed. In these thirty square meters where kitchen, living room, and bedroom mingled without modesty, the emptiness was already beginning to resonate. My breathing grew lighter, my thoughts clouded, and I finally drifted into Morpheus's arms, cradled by the unusual silence of my own departure.
The next morning, my alarm tore through the dawn. I silenced it with a mechanical gesture before getting up. My flight was at nine, but my old habits of vigilance forbade me from sleeping past six. Everything was ready. I called the agency to confirm the pickup of the boxes, then gave the floor one last sweep—a way of thanking these walls one final time.
That was when I saw it, glowing faintly on the floor: a bracelet. A single bead entwined in a black thread.
As I picked it up, a shiver ran through me. I had this visceral, almost painful feeling of forgetting something of vital importance. But what? A memory? A debt? A gift from an ex?
No, I had returned every last one of their belongings so I would owe them nothing. I tried to dive deep into my memory, searching for the invisible thread connected to that bead, but a sharp knock at the door broke my concentration. I slipped the bracelet into my pocket.I would solve this riddle later.
A woman in her thirties was waiting on the landing.
—Hello, are you Katrine Arzons, the donor?
—Yes, that's me.
—Pleasure to meet you, I'm Hanna Cooper. I represent the association. I've brought some movers to help us.
I stepped aside to let them in. While three sturdy men began emptying my existence in a ballet of boxes, I stationed myself beside Ms. Cooper. Unconsciously, my mind began to dissect every detail of her person, seeking to understand the soul beneath the social uniform.
She wore a terracotta suit, a shade of earthenware skillfully chosen by those who want to project an image of seriousness without appearing inaccessible. Her bun, styled with absolute rigour, betrayed a need for total control over her environment and herself. The absence of a wedding ring suggested a personal life either sacrificed or deliberately kept away from her public sphere. Her posture was that of a woman accustomed to being the face of an institution: upright, cautious, aware of every gaze fixed upon her.
Suddenly, she caught my eye. I started, caught in the act of analyzing her. To hide my embarrassment, I slipped away toward my suitcase. At this rate, everything would be finished in ten minutes.
As we left the building for good, we passed the lobby. Mr. Rogers, the security guard, was there. A man in his fifties, he wasn't the expressive type, but his silences had always seemed a thousand times more sincere than the plastic smiles of my neighbors.
I remembered the time when, bedridden by a devastating fever, he had practically forced me to follow him to the hospital.
He had taken care of everything, watching over me with a protective gruffness that had touched me. Once I was healed, he had turned back into a block of ice, erecting his barriers once more. It had never bothered me. During that week, he had been more present for me than my own father had ever been.
I gave him a nod, which he returned with a curt jerk of the head. But as Ms. Cooper congratulated me on my generosity, I felt my heart shrink with guilt. I couldn't just leave like that. I spun around and, before he could react, I hugged this man whose voice I barely even knew.
—I'm going to miss you, Mr. Rogers, I whispered.
He stayed frozen for a second, then his hand came up to pat my back with a clumsy gentleness. For the first time, I saw him smile. He reached into his locker and pulled out a seashell, polished by time.
—Just as this shell protected the creature that lived inside, I hope it protects you on your journey.
His voice was deep, imbued with a solemnity that brought tears to my eyes. I pressed the gift against my heart before walking away. Ms. Cooper watched us, looking a bit bewildered by this burst of raw emotion.
—Your taxi is here, Ms. Arzons. We wish you a safe journey. Thank you again for everything.
I got into the vehicle after one last nod. The taxi pulled away, distancing itself from the streets and faces I had known for seven years. I watched my neighborhood fade in the rearview mirror, taking a part of me with it.
Farewell.