I had such a great time. It feels strange to see my little sister Julie with a big belly. The baby shower was beautiful. I think Mom, the cousins, and I did a wonderful job. But now it’s time to leave. We cleaned everything up nicely. Our little Julie can finally lie down and rest. The baby is due in a month.
“Goodbye Mom and Dad, I’ll call you when I get home.”
As I hug Mom, I whisper in her ear, “I’ll try again!”
Mom bursts out laughing and says, “We’re dreaming, but you won’t manage it. After all, there’s only one month left.”
Julie and I are standing at the door. I place both hands on her belly, give her a big kiss, and say, “I can feel him kicking! He’ll be a real Ricardo!”
Julie laughs, grabs my face, looks straight into my eyes, and says, “Nice try, but patience is key. We won’t tell you.”
Peter, my brother-in-law, comes up behind her, gently rests his head on Julie’s shoulder, places his hands on her belly, and smiles a big “No.”
It’s 10 p.m. I get behind the wheel. I don’t live too far, about 45 minutes away, but part of the drive is very winding. Once you see the Jules lighthouse, the road gets easier. But tonight, it’s really dark and foggy.
I think about Jean-Luc. For nearly five years, he was usually the one driving this Hautbas pass. We broke up two months ago. It’s still recent, but I feel good. My family supports me. And I stand by it: never accept a violent act, even if we find reasons that seem justifiable.
I still don’t understand why he didn’t believe me, which made my decision to leave him even stronger.
It happened on one of those days when I drove alone, through thick fog. Julie had called me, panicked, because she had lost a little blood. Her husband was on a business trip, and she didn’t want to worry Mom or Dad.
I remember myself, listening to her on the phone while putting on my jacket, waving to Violette, my boss, to make her understand I had to go, it was urgent. I drove like crazy. When I got to Julie’s, I could see she was worried. We went to the ER. Luckily, her gynecologist was on duty.
After a quick ultrasound, the doctor confirmed everything was fine. Sometimes, a few months before birth, this could happen. He advised her to rest and lie down more often than usual. We went back to her place. I set her up on the couch with lots of little cushions to support her precious belly. I made her a good soup with nourishing ingredients, then a ginger lemonade. Before I left, she gave me a big smile and said, “Even if I have to rest more and lie down longer, I still won’t tell you if you’re getting a nephew or a niece, Miss Auntie Anne.” Like a big baby, I tucked her into bed.
I get back on the road. It’s late, foggy, I focus. There it is, I see the lighthouse, almost at the easy part of the road. I try calling Jacques, no answer. Strange at this hour, but never mind.
I finally get home. Hmm, strange, he says nothing, seems in a bad mood. Never mind, I tell him what happened. And then he starts yelling, accusing me of lying. I don’t even answer, I go straight to our room.
Coming out of the shower, he’s there, and he slaps me twice, one on each cheek. I stay silent. I was exhausted from my day, worried about the life of the baby my sister is carrying. He leaves the room, calmly, without any remorse. After he’s gone, I lock the door. I lay down, and a little angel helped me forget. I gave myself to sleep, with a bit of meditation. Everything was fine, except my cheeks, which hurt. I think it was the first time I fell asleep sitting up in bed.
Those two slaps were the first of my life. I’m 31.
Thinking about all this, the winding road of Hautbas pass takes me back to that past. But suddenly, I notice a car behind me, quite far. Strange, there’s not much traffic on this old road between the village of Chambli and the next town, especially at this hour.
I try to speed up a bit, but it’s hard, the turns are sharp. Finally, I see the light from Paul and his son Julien’s lighthouse. It means the road will soon be straight, and maybe I could stop at the lighthouse, one of them must be awake.
I love that lighthouse, it’s full of memories, stories, heartbeats. Many people from the village or town come to visit, bringing little dishes. I love playing dominos or cards there.
Damn, that car is getting closer. I speed up, make a sharp turn right, jump out of the car and run. I know this little path between the rocks, I can run faster on the beach.
I run as fast as I can. I check my phone, no signal. I glance behind me, a man is following me. I bang hard on the lighthouse door. Paul is there, just done with his daily checks.
He sees right away that something’s wrong, he shuts the door.
“What’s going on, Anne?” Paul asks.
I don’t have time to answer, someone knocks at the door. Paul quickly sends me to the kitchen, hands me a coffee, and goes to open.
A giant man is standing there, he has to duck to get through the door. He’s holding a license plate in his hand. Paul greets him and asks what he wants. The man cuts him off and starts explaining why he’s here.
He says that the car in front of him lost its license plate while driving, and it broke his windshield. He wanted to return it and make an insurance claim. He noticed the person seemed scared, so he slowed down.
Paul smiles. I come out of the kitchen, and the three of us start laughing, because the situation is quite funny, like in a comedy film.
Paul makes a good coffee, and we sit there talking and laughing until two in the morning.
Alex, with Paul there, asks if we can exchange WhatsApp contacts and maybe keep in touch. I hesitate to say yes. Let’s not forget, I’m a writer specializing in femicides.
The next morning, I wake up as the sun just starts rising over the sea, I feel full of energy. Yesterday was really nice. I’m so happy to have seen the whole family, we shared all our stories, and then there was Jean-Luc… I take a deep breath and promise myself never to let fear control my life again.
I get up, make myself a coffee, and take a moment to think. The memories of my ex are fading, and the pain I felt is giving way to a sense of freedom. Maybe a new chapter in my life is finally opening.
I think about my work, my articles about violence against women, and how I can continue to raise awareness. I feel ready to dive even deeper into my projects.
The day looks bright, and I’m determined to live it fully, with no regrets or fear. Looking at myself in the mirror, I say, “A new Anne is rising today.”
And I never called back the giant from the lighthouse, and he didn’t either.
Almost six months later, on a simple and rare day with no appointments, I decide to relax at home. The TV is on, just to catch some news, which I usually follow on the radio. Suddenly, there’s breaking news: a serial killer, wanted for three years, has finally been caught. They show the man. It was the giant from the lighthouse.
I can’t help but laugh and cry at the same time, feeling blessed and saved by my instinct. He might have killed me.
Everything spins in my head. I call my boss and tell her I know this man, briefly explaining that I absolutely want to be the journalist covering this case. My mind is racing, I’m ready to open this project and start writing an article that will make waves.
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