Morning slowly rose over Lyon, golden light gently flowing over the red roofs of Fourvière hill. Elise walked carefully around her small flat in the Croix-Rousse neighbourhood, one hand supporting her round belly, ready to give birth at any moment. Each step was difficult for her, but despite her fatigue, she whispered tenderly:
‘Hang in there, my baby… just a little longer, and we’ll finally see each other.’
But Marc, her husband, didn’t even look at her.
From the moment she became pregnant, the man who had once been caring and attentive became like a stranger. Everything annoyed him: the smell of food, her light sleep, her heavy breathing. He treated her as if her pregnancy had made her invisible.
One evening, as Elise was carefully folding the baby’s tiny clothes, he said something that broke her heart:
‘Next month, you’re going to your parents’ house in Annecy to give birth. Everything is too expensive here. The midwife there will cost next to nothing. I’m not going to throw money down the drain.’
Elise stared at him, feeling her eyes fill with tears.
‘But, Mark… I’m nine months pregnant. It’s a long journey… I could give birth on the way…’
He shrugged indifferently.
‘That’s your problem. At least you’ll stop complaining.’
That night, Elise realised that the man she loved was gone.
Two days later, her throat tight with anxiety, she boarded the TGV high-speed train to Annecy, clutching an old suitcase.
Her mother, Madame Fontaine, was waiting for her at the station. Seeing her pale, exhausted daughter, she hugged her tightly.
‘Baby… you’re home now. Mummy will take care of you.’
While Elise was returning to Annecy, Mark rushed to the home of Chloe Morel, his young assistant. She was also pregnant… and swore to Mark that she was expecting a boy.
He felt like the luckiest man alive.
‘Finally, an heir!’ he boasted.
He spared no expense: a private room at the Saint-Antoine clinic, the most expensive services — almost 8,000 euros paid in advance.
On the day of the birth, Mark arrived with a huge bouquet of tulips.
When the baby was born, he immediately sent a photo to all his chat groups:
‘My son! He looks just like me!’
But his happiness was short-lived.
The nurse called him to sign the documents. Mark strode importantly down the corridor of the neonatal ward, his shoulders straight.
When the door opened, the smile froze on his face.
Standing before him was Madame Fontaine, Elise’s mother. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her gaze as cold as ice.
‘M… Madame Fontaine? What are you doing here?’ he muttered.
She placed a jar of baby formula on the table, extremely calmly.
‘I came to see my son-in-law. And the child you are so proud of.’
‘You’re mistaken… Chloe is just a friend. I… I’m helping her…’ Mark began to mumble.
Madame Fontaine raised her hand, motioning for him to be quiet.
She took an envelope out of her bag.
‘Do you know what this is? A DNA test. I ordered it right after the baby was born.’
She slowly opened the envelope, as if savouring every moment.
‘And guess what… this child is not yours, Mark. Not a drop.’
Mark turned pale and froze, as if he had been struck in the chest.
‘That’s impossible… Chloe assured me…’
Madame Fontaine laughed briefly and bitterly.
‘You kicked my daughter out of the house because she was expecting a girl. You sent her away to save a few euros. And you spent thousands on this woman. And for what? To raise someone else’s child.’
She put the documents in her bag and headed for the exit. Already at the door, she turned around and added:
” ‘Elise is fine. She gave birth to a wonderful girl, healthy and strong. And don’t worry… she has a father now. But it’s not you. From today, my daughter and granddaughter no longer need a coward like you.’
The door slammed so loudly that Mark’s legs buckled. He sank into a chair.
From the hallway came the cry of a baby — the same baby that had seemed like a miracle to him that morning.
Now it sounded like a mockery.
A few weeks later, he received a call from the clinic: the amount to be paid exceeded €12,000.
Chloe had disappeared, leaving all the debts to him.
The flat he had registered in her name was seized.
His savings were gone.
His pride was shattered.
Meanwhile, in Annecy, Elise was slowly coming back to life.
The sun was setting over the turquoise lake, and Madame Fontaine watched her daughter rocking the baby in her arms as she sat on the terrace.
‘You see, my girl? Life always puts everything in its place. You have love. And he… he only has guilt left.’
Elise kissed her little one’s forehead, smiling faintly but sincerely.
A warm wind descended from the mountains and gently rustled the leaves of the apple trees in the garden.
And for the first time in a long time, Elise took a deep, free breath — a breath of new life.
