Priscilla ´s POV
The café remained quiet. Not silent — just hushed, like a place that knew how to listen.
We sat by the window. The light fell pale, filtered through a linen curtain. Outside, Paris slowed down. Inside, I stirred my coffee without touching it.
Samuel sat across from me. Same posture as before. Elbows close to his body. Hands folded. Eyes steady.
He didn't speak. And I didn't fill the silence.
Finally, he said:
"You changed."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Aged?"
He gave a faint smile.
"No. Just… more yourself."
I didn't know what that meant. And I didn't ask.
He looked down at his cup. Then back up.
"I didn't think I'd see you again. Not like this. Not here."
I nodded.
"Me neither."
A silence followed. Not awkward. Just dense.
Then he leaned in slightly.
"Are you okay, Priscilla?"
I paused. The question sounded simple. The answer wasn't.
"I functioned," I said. "Some days better than others."
He accepted that. Didn't push.
"I was glad you came. Even if it was just for coffee."
I looked at him. Really looked. The lines near his eyes. The way he held his breath waiting for my answer.
And I felt the weight of what I didn't say.
He didn't know. Not yet. But he would.
Samuel placed his hand over mine. Slowly. As if he asked permission without words.
His palm felt warm, steady. Mine, hesitant.
He murmured:
"You know… I heard what you said to Dr. Mirelle."
I didn't move. My gaze stayed fixed on the cup, on the lukewarm coffee I hadn't touched.
He waited. Not to pressure me. Just to give me space.
I looked up. He didn't scrutinize me. He saw me — with that quiet gravity that didn't judge, but noticed everything.
"You're pregnant."
I didn't answer. Not right away.
He added, more softly:
"It's not mine. I know that."
I lowered my eyes. He didn't ask. He stated.
"But you're alone. And you don't have to be."
I gently pulled my hand away. Not to flee. Just to breathe.
"I managed, Samuel. I did what I could."
He nodded. Once. Without flinching.
"If you wanted me here… I would be here."
I looked at him. For a long time. And for the first time in days, something inside me loosened.
Not the pain. But the isolation.
Samuel lowered his eyes for a moment, then looked back up. He seemed to search for words, but they already waited, ready to fall.
"I never forgot you, Priscilla."
I didn't move.
"Not once. Even when I pretended. Even when I said I moved on. Even when I tried to convince myself it was over."
He took a quiet breath.
"I stayed as in love with you as I was back in university."
I closed my eyes for a moment. Just long enough to silence the world.
Then I sighed.
"Samuel…"
He waited. He hoped. He said nothing, but everything in him leaned toward me.
I shook my head gently.
"It wasn't possible anymore."
He frowned slightly.
"Why not?"
I looked at him. For a long time. And I let the words come, unfiltered.
"Too much stood between us.
I changed.
You didn't know what I went through.
I wasn't the woman you loved.
The father of my child was married to someone else.
And I didn't have time for love anymore.
I needed to be present. For him. For this child. No distractions. No vertigo."
I paused.
"And if I fell in love with you again… I wouldn't survive a second fall."
He didn't answer. He didn't protest. He simply lowered his eyes, as if my words extinguished something in him.
But he stayed. Present. Silent.
And I looked outside. Paris kept moving. And so did I.
The café door swung open. Brenda stepped in like a gust — hair slightly tousled, bag slung over her shoulder, eyes sharp.
"Pris! It's time. We have to go."
Her voice cut through the calm of the room. She walked over, brisk, almost protective.
I exhaled. Finally. An escape. An end to a conversation too full.
I stood, gently pushed my chair back. Samuel rose too, slower.
"Thanks for the coffee," I said.
He nodded. But when I reached out to shake his hand goodbye, he took it in both of his.
Firm. Not forceful. Just… resolute.
His gaze locked onto mine.
"I wasn't giving up that easily."
I froze.
"I knew you didn't want this. Not now. Not like before."
He tightened his grip slightly.
"But I was going to keep fighting. To win you back. In my own way. Without rushing you."
I didn't answer. Brenda watched us, curious, protective, but silent.
I gently pulled my hand away. Then turned to leave.
But as I walked out, I felt his eyes on my back. Like a promise. Like a thread still tied.
And I knew this wasn't over.
We walked briskly, heels tapping against damp pavement. Brenda held her umbrella like a scepter, her bag thumped against her hip with each step.
She glanced sideways at me.
"So, were you going to tell me what happened with Samuel, or should I guess?"
I sighed. I knew this was coming.
"We fell in love at university. It was simple, deep, almost naïve. He looked at me like I was a mystery he was allowed to love without solving."
Brenda stayed quiet. She listened.
"We stayed together for two years. Then it unraveled. Slowly. Like fabric pulled too often at the seams."
"Why?"
I hesitated.
"Meredith."
Brenda frowned.
"Your mother?"
"Yes. She never tolerated me being happy with someone. She called it a distraction. Said love made me soft, vulnerable, useless. She did everything she could to sabotage it. She called Samuel behind my back, planted doubts, made me seem unstable. And he… eventually, he believed her."
We stopped at a crosswalk. The noise of traffic filled the pause.
"I didn't really blame him. We were young. And Meredith… she knew how to wear people down without ever breaking them."
Brenda looked at me, sharp and gentle.
"Did you still love him?"
I shook my head.
"No. That ended a long time ago. What remained was old tenderness. Gratitude, maybe. But love? No. Nothing alive."
We started walking again. My voice dropped.
"I thought I fell in love with the father of my child."
Brenda stopped in her tracks.
I kept walking, not turning around.
"And that… might have been even more complicated."
The moment we stepped through the glass doors of the company, I felt something had shifted.
It wasn't obvious. It was subtle. A vibration in the air. A silence too full. Eyes that dimmed the second they met mine.
Brenda slowed down. So did I.
The hallways stayed the same, the desks too. But the voices… they carried a different texture. Muffled. Clipped. Like sentences swallowed too quickly.
I felt the whispers before I heard them.
— That's her, right?
— Priscilla?
— Apparently… she's pregnant.
— Even Mémé said so.
I clenched my jaw. I kept walking. I didn't look at anyone.
Brenda glanced at me. She heard it too.
— Want me to say something? she murmured.
I shook my head.
— No. Let them talk. It would pass.
But I knew it wouldn't. Not right away.
I felt the eyes on my back. The speculation. The judgment. The poorly disguised curiosity.
And I wondered who spoke. Who broke the silence I had imposed on myself.
I didn't even have time to set down my bag.
Three sharp knocks struck the door. Not polite. Not patient.
"Come in."
The door opened. Suzana entered — black suit, icy stare, jaw clenched. She offered no greeting, no pause.
"So it was true."
I looked at her.
"Nice to see you too."
She slammed the door behind her.
"No need for pleasantries when a department's reputation stood at stake."
She stepped forward and dropped a folder on the desk.
"Were you pregnant?"
I didn't answer.
"How long did you think you could hide it? You thought the halls were deaf? That people weren't watching?"
I stayed upright.
"What I went through concerned me alone."
"Wrong. You headed the editorial division. That role demanded presence, clarity, rigor. Not hormones and half-attention."
I rose slowly.
"My work was done. My deadlines were met. My team moved forward."
"For now. But I saw the signs. Delays. Missed validations. Your focus slipped in meetings. You declined."
I clenched my fists.
"You always looked for an excuse to push me out."
Suzana smiled. Cold.
"I didn't need an excuse. I had facts. And if you kept clinging to this position while you unraveled, I would take it. Officially. And hand it to someone more… functional."
I stepped closer.
"Try. But know this: I was pregnant,
She sized me up. A pause followed. Then she turned on her heel.
"We'd see how long you lasted."
And she left. Without looking back.
I stayed there. Breath tight. But standing.