Chapter 5 - The Return to Lyon
The apartment in Lyon was located in the quiet, historic district of Croix-Rousse. It was a bright, second-floor space with exposed wooden beams, large windows that looked out over a courtyard filled with old chestnut trees, and a small balcony where Julien kept pots of fresh basil and lavender. He had spent the previous two years making it a sanctuary for Chloé’s weekend visits, filling her bedroom with shelves of fairy tales, a white wooden desk for her drawings, and a soft, pink rug that she used to lie on while listening to music.
But when they walked through the door on Friday afternoon, the apartment felt different. The familiar space seemed too large, the silence too heavy.
Chloé stood in the hallway, her small suitcase sitting at her feet. She was wearing a new set of clothes Julien had bought her at the hospital—a soft green sweater and dark jeans—but she looked like a guest who was afraid to take off her shoes.
"You can put your things in your room, Chloé," Julien said, trying to keep his voice light and cheerful. "I bought the cherry yogurt you like. And I thought tonight we could order a pizza from the place down the street."
Chloé didn't move. She looked around the hallway, her eyes resting on the wooden coat rack, then on the digital clock on the kitchen counter. "Is the door locked, Daddy?" she asked softly.
"Of course it’s locked, sweetheart," Julien said, walking over to the heavy oak door and turning the deadbolt back and forth so she could hear the solid, metallic click. "See? No one can come in without a key. Not Marc, not anyone."
Chloé walked slowly into her bedroom. She didn't look at the books or the desk. Instead, she walked straight to the window, pulling the white curtains shut until the room was cast in a dim, grey shadow. She sat down on the edge of her bed, her hands tucked under her thighs, her gaze fixed on the floor.
Julien stood in the doorway, his heart twisting into a painful knot.
"Chloé," he said, walking over and sitting on the floor in front of her, so he was looking up into her face. "You don't have to hide the light anymore. The sheet-metal panels are gone. There are no high walls here. You can look at the trees if you want to."
Chloé looked down at him, her blue eyes completely flat, devoid of the vibrant spark that used to define her.
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"Marc said the light is where people see your mistakes, Dad," she whispered. "He said if the neighbors saw me looking out the window, he would make you pay for the mortgage on the house with your blood instead of your money. I don't want him to hurt you because of me."
Julien reached up, his larger hands gently enveloping her cold cheeks, forcing her to see the absolute sincerity in his eyes. "Marc is behind steel bars in a maximum-security prison in Moulins, Chloé. He is never, ever coming out. He cannot touch me, and he can never touch you again. This is our castle now. And in this castle, we don't hide from the sun."
