25

"Sis, why are you bothering me at this hour?

I can't sleep because of the uncertainty.

"Well, good luck with that."

I pretend to hang up, but her frustrated squeal makes me burst into laughter and put the phone back to my ear.

Come on! Just tell me the good news. Did she accept you? Of course she did, you're not that ugly.

I make a face, release a sigh, and head to the minibar to refill my whiskey glass. I take a long sip just to tease her.

"No. We're not together. There's no happy ending," I sink back into the couch. "Your brother is an idiot, a pathetic and scorned human being. A fool who's damn well in love. How's that for a gossip magazine headline?"

I clear my throat, then let out a sigh of regret. My sister on the other end lets out a sigh of disappointment, and I'm sure her eyes are filled with sympathy.

I should laugh because I enjoy seeing you suffer sometimes. But... do you want a hug?

I furrow my brows and roll my eyes at her tasteless joke. I stretch my legs, laughing without any real amusement.

A few weeks have passed, and the wounds on my body have healed. Only small bruises remain, gradually fading away.

"Sure, when the idiot who has you captive lets you go, give it to me, okay?"

I hear her burst into laughter, and my lips form a smile on their own.

I missed her, but I wouldn't admit it to her face.

And how about now?

She hangs up, leaving me truly confused. I put aside the glass and try to call her again, but my fingers stop when the front door of the mansion opens. The first thing I notice is her loose, wavy hair, and the suitcases she's trying to drag that are bigger than her, causing her to stumble and fall to the ground.

"Merde, are you going to help me or what?"

I react but do not do what she expects. I end up running like a little child and help her up, only to end up on the floor again when I embrace her.

She squeals, lightly hitting my shoulder, and I let go, leaving her on the ground amid contagious laughter from both of us. She remains still, looking at my face with longing and nostalgia.

"Are you going to stare at me all day?" she sighs playfully.

"You're still as ugly," I tease.

I hold her by the waist as she lunges towards me and hug her with more strength than I did before. I open my eyes, somewhat surprised, and then return the hug without any hesitation.

"Honey, Christine is here!"

Her scream makes her separate from me and runs toward Mom. I huff, not even when I arrived did she scream so loud. I put my hands in my pockets and approach slowly, my father comes downstairs confused.

Then I quickly cover the remaining distance and squeeze my sister in a hug along with my mother.

Once again, I feel excluded.

I press my lips, directing them to the glass of whiskey and finishing it in one gulp.

"Didn't I tell you not to drink anymore, Arthur Müller?"

I lick my lips, place the glass on the table and take my sister's suitcases. I shrug, directing my gaze toward them.

"Yes. That's how it was."

My father makes a motion to approach me, and my muscles tense by inertia. However, Christine stands in between, stopping my father. She gives him a pleading look while glancing at me.

"Dad, please," she begs.

The man just grunts and walks away muttering things, Mom gives me a reproving look before following him. I huff, lifting the suitcase and starting to walk towards her old room.

"Arthur, you have to understand..."

I open the door, place the object on the floor, and turn to her. With my hands on my hips, I ask for an answer.

"Understand what? I'm not a child anymore to be scolded like that. I know what I'm doing."

She crosses her arms, observing. Her serious gaze and straight posture make me look away.

I clench my jaw with her words.

"He just wants to prevent you from doing the same thing again."

"I was a kid."

"It doesn't matter. Alcohol wasn't the solution back then, and it won't be now."

I swallow hard, nodding and sighing. I raise my gaze only to notice how much she had changed. She was still a little girl, but more mature than me. I guess some things don't change.

"Dr. Müller," I say proudly, she lets out a sigh, shaking her head. "Sounds good, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she stands in front of me. "I missed you."

"Me too," I admit.

Leaving a kiss on her forehead, we embrace each other in a fraternal and warm hug. The delicate and soft scent of a fragrance composed of some flowers caresses my nose.

"I know," she sings teasingly against my chest, I roll my eyes. "Now, tell me about her."

This would be the second most painful thing I would do in my life. The first was letting her go.

The first will always be letting them go.

*

*

*

Michelle.

I remember as a child I wanted many things.

A doll.

Clean clothes.

Shoes.

Food every day.

Mom and Dad.

But above all, I wanted a mom.

I wanted both.

Maybe that's why I feel so guilty for not telling him about our child. Maybe that's why my chest tightened with pain and anguish at the thought that my child could be okay without his father.

What kind of mother am I?

Axel said it, I'm a selfish mother, a mother who had to relive night after night what it feels like to not have parents to decide to tell the man I want to have a child with.

I had to relive my nightmares to give my child his father.

And yet, at the last minute, I didn't say anything.

"So, is the baby Arthur's?" I nod, letting out a sigh.

Frida remained still, looking at me with a serious and confused expression. Then she showed a small smile that makes me purse my lips.

"Why are you smiling like that? Are you dying?" She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"Of course, my 'I always knew' smile is because I'm dying right now. Of course."

Now it's my turn to roll my eyes. Meeting Frida was unexpected. Well, not entirely. I always knew that if I had to trust someone with my brother's case, it would be a great lawyer.

I thought we would only meet for that. Just for that.

But it turns out Frida is nice, she's a good person. She has a beautiful energy that tells me I can trust her as a friend.

And I want to believe that I convey that to her too. She has been supporting me not only with my brother's situation but also with my problems. She listens to me and waits for me to ask for her opinion so she can give me her point of view.

She's a great friend. The first one I've made in a long time.

"What do you mean you always knew?"

"Sweetheart, you're the wife of the son of the owner of Müller Enterprises. Your face is in more magazines than I can read. You're famous. Therefore, everyone can appreciate how you look at Arthur Müller in interviews and such..."

I scratch my head, feeling perplexed. In the few interviews I participated in with Arthur, I didn't say much, a condition I demanded when making the deal. I only said a few things that weren't very important.

"Why does that matter?" I ask, shrugging my shoulders.

Frida lets out a sigh and shakes her head. I've discovered that she has a lot of patience, at least with me. She's quite objective and direct, although reserved.

Very reserved.

"You don't look at Axel the way you look at Arthur," she concludes.

Her words make me cough exaggeratedly, as I had just taken a sip of the fruit juice I ordered as soon as I arrived at the café. A chocolate cake was on the table, accompanying the juice. Frida ordered a coffee.

At this rate, I'll turn into a white whale.