AGAROS : The Love Betrayal

« I lost the key to my freedom… but I'm determined to find it. »

Chapter 9

Naël's Point of View

Dad took my hand and pulled me toward the living room, his movements as natural as they were determined. I felt as if I were being led by the hand, like a porcelain doll, manipulated without care. My gaze drifted quickly toward the bay window, where the outside world appeared both free and unreachable. Petter was no longer there.

— My darling, you're beautiful… he said, with that gentle insistence that always seemed to slide over me like water over stones.

But this time, there was something else. Worry, perhaps.

I didn't pay it much attention. All I could think about was what had just happened, that meeting that had left me shaken. I cast him a distracted, almost vacant look.

— Why are you here so early? I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He averted his gaze, hesitant. His hand came to rest on his shoulder absentmindedly, as if he were searching for an excuse in his own movements.

— I couldn't concentrate after our conversation earlier, so… I decided to come home.

He kept talking, but I wasn't listening. My eyes stayed fixed on the bay window, my mind elsewhere. All I wanted was to see Petter again.

— I'm so happy to see you like this, so well… Why are you all dressed up?

I shrugged, without much conviction.

— Just like that.

He looked at me, doubt flickering in his gaze.

— It wasn't to go out, was it? Wasn't it, Naël?

Surprised by the question, I frowned. My tone stayed as cold as my voice would allow.

— What are you talking about? You've locked me in here. How could I go out?

My voice trembled with a rage I couldn't control. How could he think that of me? My eyes remained fixed on the outside world. The shadows danced on the glass like a mirror of my thoughts: blurred, unstable, uncertain. The cold seeping through the window felt like it reinforced the invisible barrier, the wall between him and me, that kept me isolated.

— And what were you doing at the door, then? Admit it, you wanted to leave if I hadn't come back. You know I don't like you being near the door. We've talked about this. If you can't keep your promises, I'll have to take measures… measures you won't like.

His voice was calm, too calm. His words were deliberate, heavy. I could feel his firmness in every syllable, but something inside me broke. I hated him at that moment. His promises of love felt more like chains than protection.

— I'm not a porcelain doll!

The words escaped me, sharp as iron. My body was tense, my brow furrowed. When I turned my head, it was toward the bay window, my only refuge. I couldn't look at him. Not now.

— The view is enough for you, you have the bay window… That's more than enough for you.

I felt a mix of anger and profound sadness. Was he serious?

— You don't understand, Dad… I'm going to die, soon. Don't you see?

The words escaped like a choked cry, a truth too heavy, too real. My illness had stolen my health. And he was keeping me confined here.

He froze, his eyes fixed on me, a mixture of surprise and fear.

— No, Naël. Don't say that…

His voice trembled, almost broken.

— I am. I'm tired, trapped, and this house is killing me.

— You won't leave here, whether you like it or not…

He paused, perhaps attempting to reach me with softer words. But I cut him off.

— Then I'll leave. And you'll never see me again. I'd rather disappear than stay here, in this prison. Every day here is a burden.

I didn't want to be the obedient girl, the puppet. The anguish of physical suffering, of illness, was familiar to me. But the suffering of the soul, the kind that came from confinement, from dependency—I could no longer bear it.

Dad took a deep breath, his gaze lost for a moment as if he were trying to find the right words. He approached me carefully, as though trying to touch me in places he'd never gone, deep in my mind.

— Understand that I'm doing this for your own good… I… I'm doing it to protect you… I…

There was emotion in his voice, fragility. A part of him that he never showed me. It touched me, far more than I would have thought. But it still wasn't enough.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My mind was a maze of doubts and desires. I stood without another word and climbed the stairs as quickly as my legs would carry me. I didn't want him to see the war that raged within me.

The door to my room slammed behind me. I locked it, as though it were a barrier between us. I collapsed onto my bed, my heart aching, my eyes full of tears. The blanket over my face couldn't muffle my sobs. Why did everything have to be so difficult? What had I done to deserve this ?

What had I done to lose everything, even the freedom to live?

I finally got up, my hands trembling. I was searching for something to silence the screaming in my head, the relentless, nagging pain that wouldn't stop hitting me. My eyes fell on the cutter resting on the nightstand. It seemed to be waiting, as though it were asking me to make a decision.

I took it. The cold blade brushed against my skin. I let it glide, a fleeting sensation, almost liberating. The adrenaline coursed through me, vibrating in every nerve. The pain was there, but it wasn't as sharp as the pain of freedom slipping through my fingers. It was a pain of the soul. Yet, at this moment, it felt like the only thing that allowed me to breathe again.

Then, the door knocked.

I jumped, and the cutter slipped from my hand. Dad was calling, his voice strained, full of fear. He didn't know. He couldn't know.

I rushed toward the door, opening it all at once. And there, in his arms, I let go. The weight of my tears, of my sorrow, poured onto him. I had never wanted this. Never.

He looked at me, his eyes full of confusion and fear, noticing the object on the ground. He didn't speak right away. He simply held me, as though trying to reassure me, to show me that he was here. That everything would be okay.

— Listen, my heart, he began, his voice trembling, I know I've let you feel alone here. But I'm here. I'm sorry. I've tried to protect you in my own way, but I see now that I've gotten it all wrong. From now on, I'll do better. I promise. Together, we'll rebuild… your happiness.

I couldn't speak anymore. All I could do was cling to him. My heart was beating more slowly. It was strange. This father, the one I thought I knew so well, felt so different now.

I held on a little tighter. And for the first time in a long time, I felt a glimmer of hope.