Marie

The nights had become silent. Too silent. You often woke up in the middle of the night, your hand instinctively searching for Marie's presence at your side. But each time, he found her side of the bed empty, still warm. He knew where she was. Without a sound, he got up and crossed the room plunged into darkness. There, in front of the window, bathed in the pale light of the moon, stood Marie, motionless. She was wearing her old woolen cardigan, too big for her, and her hand gently caressed her rounded belly. "Aren't you asleep yet?" he murmured as he approached. She didn't answer right away, still staring at the horizon, where the city lights were going out one by one. "I'm still thinking about it," she finally said in a broken voice. You felt your heart clench. You didn't need to ask what she was referring to. your first child. The one who was taken from you too soon, leaving behind a void that neither time nor words could fill. He gently placed his hands on Marie's shoulders, then slowly moved down to wrap his arms around her stomach. "I think about it too," he whispered against the back of her neck. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. "I'm afraid, my love... Afraid we'll relive all that. Afraid we'll lose him too..." He tightened his embrace. "Not this time." A silence fell, only broken by the wind blowing against the window. Then, slowly, Marie placed her hand on yours, intertwining their fingers on her stomach. "Do you think he sees us?" she asked in a whisper. you looked up at the sky, where one star shone brighter than the others. — I think he’s watching over us. A shiver ran through Marie, but this time, it wasn’t fear. It was a gentle warmth, a presence she couldn’t explain but that comforted her. “Come back to bed,” he whispered to her. She nodded gently and let herself be guided to bed. That night, for the first time in a long time, she fell asleep with a little less fear and a little more hope.