Her eyes hardened.

“Thomas has lived here for three years.”

“Because I allowed it.”

“We gave up our apartment for you.”

“You said it was temporary.”

“We changed our lives.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

Her voice rose.

“Then why are you treating us like criminals?”

I said nothing.

That silence answered for me.

Élodie stood.

Her chair scraped against the floor.

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Say what you think we’ve done.”

I looked at her.

She wanted the accusation.

She wanted to know what I knew.

So I gave her nothing.

“I think I’m tired.”

I turned my wheelchair toward the hallway.

She stepped in front of me.

For the first time, she no longer looked like my caregiver.

She looked like someone blocking an exit.

“Move, please.”

She did not.

“Élodie.”

“You have no idea what you’ve done to this family.”

I almost laughed.

The absurdity was too great.

“What I’ve done?”

Thomas entered through the back door at that moment.

He saw us.

“What’s happening?”

Élodie turned toward him.

“Your mother has been meeting with Claire Dumas.”

Thomas’s face emptied.

There are moments when truth is more visible than confession.

That was one.

He knew exactly why it mattered.

I saw fear.

Élodie saw it too.

“You didn’t tell me?” she asked him.

“I didn’t know.”

“Thomas.”

“I didn’t.”

His voice cracked.

She looked from him to me.

Then she stepped aside.

I wheeled myself out of the kitchen.

Behind me, no one spoke.

That night, I locked my bedroom door.

At two in the morning, I heard the handle move.

Once.

Twice.

Then stop.

I sat upright in bed, gripping the cane beneath my blanket.

A shadow remained under the door for several seconds.

Then disappeared.

The following morning, Élodie announced she wanted to take me for a drive.

“Where?”

“Chemin des Ormes.”

My skin went cold.

Pierre and I used to go there in autumn.

There was a lookout point beyond the old orchards where you could see the valley.

I had mentioned it once during rehabilitation.

“Why?”

“You’ve been trapped in the house too much. Fresh air might help.”

Thomas was standing at the sink.

He did not turn around.

I looked at him.

“Are you coming?”

“I have meetings.”

Élodie smiled.

“Just us.”

Everything inside me said no.

Claire’s voice returned.

If the behavior escalates, you leave.

I should have refused.

I know that now.

But another thought came too.

If I refused, what would happen next?

Would they know I was afraid?

Would they destroy evidence?

Would Élodie try something inside the house where no one could see?

I made a decision that still frightens me when I remember it.

“All right.”

Thomas turned.

Our eyes met.

Something passed over his face.

Fear.

Guilt.

Perhaps warning.

He opened his mouth.

Then Élodie touched his arm.

“We’ll be back before lunch.”

Thomas said nothing.

That silence would haunt him for years.

I went to my bedroom to get my coat.

Then I locked the door.

I put on my flat shoes.

I slipped my phone into the inner pocket of my coat.

I started the recorder.

And before I unlocked the door, I stood beside the bed.

No wheelchair.

No hands supporting me.

Just my own shaking legs.

I took four steps.

Then four more.

“Pierre,” I whispered, “I hope this is enough.”

Outside, Élodie was waiting.

She smiled as I rolled toward her.

And I smiled back.

Neither of us knew that by the end of the morning, only one of us would still believe I was helpless.