CHAPTER 164: EDIT

It was dawn. The world was still dark and sleepy. The sky wore a soft gray, and rain fell quietly, like it didn’t want to wake anyone. The fitting room smelled of fabric and candle wax, the air heavy with warmth and sweat. Vivienne and André were tangled together on one of the chaise lounges, skin against skin, breathing slow and uneven. The room was messy. Half of André’s shirt hung from the chair, one of Vivienne’s stockings was on the floor, and the faint smell of wine still lingered.

But Vivienne wasn’t dreaming of him. Not even close.

Her mind had dragged her back—years away—to when she was just seven. The night looked exactly like this one: gray, rainy, sad. She was holding her mother’s dress with both hands, clutching so tight her little fingers trembled. Her mother, Lisette, carried two worn-out luggages, her hair soaked from the rain as they walked through the crooked streets of the slums.

The streets were quiet except for water dripping from rooftops and a few stray dogs fighting over something rotten. Vivienne’s feet were bare and muddy. She didn’t understand much, only that her mother’s hands were shaking.

They stopped in front of a small cottage that looked tired and old. The wood had turned dark from rain, and the small window glowed faintly with firelight.

"Where are we, Mother?" Vivienne asked softly, her voice small and scared.

Lisette bent down and brushed her daughter’s hair from her face. "This is my aunt’s house," she said. "We’ll be staying here for a while."

Vivienne blinked up at her. "Is she nice?"

Her mother smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was the kind that meant she was pretending. She didn’t answer. She just squeezed Vivienne’s hand and knocked on the door.

The door opened after a moment, creaking loudly. A woman in her fifties stood there. She looked like a witch straight from a bedtime story—grumpy, sharp-nosed, and wearing a thick shawl. Her eyes went from Lisette to Vivienne, and her mouth curved in disgust.

"Marie," Lisette greeted softly.

The woman sniffed. "Well, look what the storm dragged in."

Later that night, young Vivienne sat by the small fire in the parlor. Her head rested on her knees, and she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. The heat from the fire made her face pink. She listened quietly as her mother and Marie spoke in the kitchen.

"You never once spoke to me for the past eight years," Marie hissed. "And now you show up with that bastard child? You think I will shelter you and that bastard?"

Lisette’s voice was calm but trembling. "She is my daughter, not a bastard. Don’t call her that."

"Your daughter?" Marie scoffed. "You mean the result of your stupidity. You should be ashamed, Lisette."

"I don’t expect your shelter," Lisette said. "You owe me. This house belongs to me, and you’re the one who squandered every coin our parents left for us. You owe me, Marie."

Marie laughed—a cruel, dry laugh. "And how do you expect me to pay you back? By feeding your brat? You must be mad."

"I don’t need you to care for me," Lisette said firmly. "Just my child."

Marie slammed a pot down. "What?"

"I’ll be going to the capital. I got a job there," Lisette said. "I can’t take her with me yet. I just need you to care for her for a few months until I’m settled. Then I’ll come back for her."

Marie stared at her like she’d grown horns. "You’re insane. Care for her? For that bastard? Have you lost what’s left of your mind?"

Lisette whispered, "Please, auntie, lower your voice."

Marie laughed louder. "Lower my voice? After you come begging me to raise your shameful little mistake? Fuck no. You should’ve thought about that before spreading your legs for some man who used you and left you."

Lisette’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t move. "I know," she whispered. "I was foolish. I know. But don’t call her names. She’s a good girl. A smart girl."

Marie’s lip curled. "You disgust me, Lisette."

Lisette reached into her bag and took out a small pouch. The sound of coins jingled softly as she threw it onto the table. "This will cover everything she needs," she said. "And don’t you dare mistreat her. If you do, I’ll come back and make you regret it."

Her voice broke at the end. She turned, and there—standing in the doorway—was Vivienne, staring with wide, scared eyes.

"Mother," she said in a small voice.

Lisette’s heart nearly fell apart. She knelt and opened her arms. "Come here, my darling."

Vivienne ran to her, clutching her tightly, her little face buried in her mother’s dress. "Do you have to go?" she asked between small sobs.

Lisette held her tighter. "Yes, my sweetheart. I will make a lot of money so you can become a singer one day, with that beautiful voice of yours."

Vivienne’s voice cracked. "You will come back for me, right? You promise?"

Lisette kissed her forehead. "I promise, my love. I will never abandon you. I will come back."

But she never did.

Vivienne could still hear the sound of her mother’s shoes walking away in the snow. The small window glowed behind her, and she remembered standing outside, waiting. For hours. Then days. Then months.

And she never came.

Tears rolled down Vivienne’s face in the present. She could feel herself standing again in that snow, the same pain biting at her chest, the same hopeless waiting. The air was heavy and silent, except for the slow breathing beside her.

Her eyes fluttered open.

She found herself in the fitting room again. The fire had gone out. The only light came from the pale gray of dawn leaking through the window. André lay beside her, shirtless, asleep. His hair was messy, falling across his forehead. He looked peaceful, soft almost, like he wasn’t the same man who had practically ruined her last