In-Laws
Valeria
Icy water and darkness close around me.
I can’t breathe.
I’m suffocating.
I fight desperately to reach the surface.
At last, my face breaks through the water.
A violent coughing fit tears through me, my lungs still raw from the smoke.
The shore is unreachable.
The current is too strong.
My legs grow heavier and heavier. My arms slowly drain of strength.
The cold numbs me little by little.
I sink.
I jolt awake, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.
That damned nightmare again. It’s been coming back more and more these past few days.
Always the same: the black water, the cold, that horrible feeling of not being able to breathe.
My shirt clings to my sweat-soaked skin.
I stay lying there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, struggling to catch my breath.
7:30 a.m.
Stephen should be here soon.
I drag myself out of bed and step beneath the shower. The scalding water slowly strips the last traces of the nightmare from my skin, though it does little to ease the tension still knotted tight in my stomach.
Two hours later, Stephen and I walk into the headquarters of the Paris Judicial Police.
Narrow corridors. Worn tile floors. Harsh fluorescent lighting.
Police officers move quickly through the halls with coffee in hand and files tucked beneath their arms.
The air smells like paper, exhaustion, and bad coffee.
People never come here for good reasons.
Stephen places a discreet hand against my back as we approach reception.
“Good morning. I’m Valeria Delorme. We have an appointment with Inspector Sanders.”
The woman behind the desk barely looks up before checking something on her computer. Then she picks up the phone.
“Inspector Sanders? Your appointment is here.”
A pause.
“All right.”
She hangs up and gestures toward the end of the hallway.
“Room 205.”
We move through a maze of cluttered offices and half-open doors behind which muffled conversations, ringing phones, and the sharp clatter of keyboards echo endlessly.
The entire place feels like a machine that never truly stops moving.
Room 205 is small and functional: a metal desk, three chairs, filing cabinets overflowing with paperwork, and a computer screen casting bluish light across part of the room.
Inspector Sanders rises when we enter.
Mid-thirties. Solid build. Open face.
But his eyes are anything but warm. They belong to a man accustomed to lies—and skilled at spotting every single one.
He offers his hand.
“Ms. Delorme.”
I shake it.
“Thank you for seeing us, Inspector.”
We sit across from him.
“I have something new,” I say without preamble.
I place my phone on the desk and play the recording of my conversation with Bianca in the restroom.
Sanders listens without interrupting. Completely motionless. His gaze slightly unfocused with that particular concentration investigators have when they’re already analyzing every word as they hear it.
When the recording ends, the silence feels heavier than before.
Sanders folds his hands together.
“Good work.”
His tone remains calm, but something shifts subtly in his expression.
“We’ll add the recording to the case file. With this, I think the judge will finally agree to place Miss Fabre under surveillance.”
When we leave the station, we head toward Normandy.
Dante’s parents live in Giverny, about an hour outside Paris.
Their home is an old manor surrounded by magnificent grounds beautiful in every season. Cherry blossoms in spring. Roses in summer. Fiery chestnut trees in autumn. Snow dusting the sculpted hedges in winter.
Dante and I used to come every Sunday for lunch.
A ritual I never experienced as an obligation, but as an anchor.
Meals that stretched for hours. Conversations going in every direction. Endless card games full of cheating and laughter—none of us respected the rules. Amelia, my mother-in-law, taught me how to cheat. We used to pass cards beneath the table while Dante’s hand rested on my thigh.
From the very beginning, Amelia and Vadim welcomed me like someone who already belonged there.
When my parents died in the car accident, they were there for me without hesitation or conditions.
They became my family.
Andrea too—that substitute older brother who had called me brainiac for years before defending me with deeply offended seriousness anytime someone dared come after me.
No matter the state of my relationship with Dante, they deserve an explanation.
That’s what brings me to their gates after leaving the police station.
Bastien opens the gate the moment I announce myself through the intercom. The car rolls up the gravel driveway.
I step out.
Stephen hangs back.
Amelia is already standing on the front steps.
She walks down slowly, as though afraid the slightest sudden movement might make me disappear, then stops in front of me.
I see an old fear in her eyes.
The fear of someone who already buried a loved one once.
“My God… it’s really you.”
Her voice breaks.
And something inside me gives way.
We cling to each other with nearly desperate force. Her fingers grip tightly at my coat.
“It’s really you.”
When we finally pull apart, she still doesn’t let go of my hand.
Vadim takes her place. He says nothing. He simply pulls me into his arms for a long time.
And suddenly, I feel Dante’s absence like a phantom limb.
He should be here.
But he isn’t.
We settle into the small sitting room.
Nothing has changed: the oil-painted landscapes in gilded frames, the Louis XV furniture, the soft light pouring through the tall windows overlooking the grounds.
The tea has already been served.
I take a sip to steady myself.
“Where were you?” Vadim asks quietly.
The porcelain lightly clinks against the saucer. I immediately set my cup down. They don’t need to see how deeply such a simple question unsettles me.
“I lived on an isolated estate in the Sarthe region. Wonderful people took me in and helped me rebuild myself.”
“Rebuild yourself?” Amelia asks, a worried crease forming between her brows.
“I… had some health issues.”
Vadim narrows his eyes, as if trying to see through my secrets.
“Wait… don’t tell me you were in the kitchen when it caught fire,” he whispers.
I hesitate for a moment over how to answer. They shouldn’t be the first people I tell something like this to… but the person I should have told first isn’t here.
Still, my silence is confession enough.
“You were there.”
This time, it isn’t a question.
“Yes,” I finally admit. “I was locked inside and left for dead.”
Amelia covers her mouth in horror. Vadim’s hand settles on her knee. I don’t know whether he’s comforting her or looking for support himself.
“Someone tried to silence me.”
“But who?”
“I can’t tell you anything for now. I only have suspicions at this point. Just know that there’s an official investigation underway.”
“But why didn’t you contact us sooner?” Vadim asks.
“At first, it was impossible. After that… I tried to contact Dante, but he never answered.”
My voice breaks on the confession, and Amelia gently squeezes my hand.
“But when? And how?” she asks. “He searched for you for months.”
“Five months later. By phone. Then by letter.”
She lowers her eyes, searching her memory.
“I remember that time. So many people claimed to be you or said they had leads about you. Every time it turned into a dead end, it destroyed him. Eventually, he stopped listening to the messages. But the letters… I don’t understand.”
“After the fire, Bianca handled everything around him,” Vadim says quietly. “She probably assumed it was just another false lead.”
That would explain why Dante never answered me.
“The police found your phone in the wreckage. Despite the investigation concluding that you had disappeared and were presumed dead in the fire and the Seine, Dante turned the world upside down looking for you.”
“Maybe… but when I finally managed to go back home, I was waiting in the car. Then he arrived with Bianca. And I watched them disappear inside together.”
I don’t tell them how badly my heart shattered that day. Or that, for the first time, I wondered whether Dante had been involved.
Still recovering, I didn’t have the strength to confront them.
And nothing guaranteed another tragic accident wouldn’t happen to me.
Horror spreads across their faces.
“Oh my God…” Amelia whispers. “It’s all been a terrible misunderstanding. There was never anything between them before last July. And even now, it has nothing to do with the love you and he shared.”
“I find that hard to believe. He’s marrying her on Saturday.”
“It’s mostly a way to reassure investors and employees,” Vadim adds. “To prove he’s still capable of running the company. That he’s no longer the broken man he became after you disappeared.”
He pauses.
“The fire… and the downward spiral that followed for more than a year did a lot of damage to Aurenza. He pulled himself together in time, but everyone was waiting for a strong signal. That marriage is what he’s giving them. Nothing more.”
I know what they’re trying to do, but I don’t know whether I should believe them.
Bianca and Dante had looked so close the night of the gala… not to mention the kiss still burned into my memory.
“Come to lunch tomorrow,” Amelia says suddenly.
I gently pull my hands from hers.
“Will they be there?”
Her eyes hold mine.
“Yes.”
He’ll be there with her, in that house, in my place.
“No… I’d rather avoid it.”
The silence that follows is painful.
“You don’t want to fight for him?”
“It’s too late. He made his choice.”
My voice cracks on the last word.
“Because he believed you were dead,” Vadim says softly.
I turn toward the man who looks so much like his brother.
“He wants nothing to do with me anymore. He made that very clear after I came back.”
“Because he’s hurting and angry,” Amelia says. “Come tomorrow. Remind him what he could still have. Remind him who he was with you.”
I feel horribly torn apart. Part of me aches to see him again; the other knows I no longer belong by his side.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Amelia searches for the right words before answering.
“Because Bianca isn’t the woman he needs. I’ve watched my son function for two years without ever truly living. He lost something when he lost you. The way he used to laugh for no reason. The way he believed anything was possible. The way he looked at the future like it belonged to him.”
She takes a deep breath.
“I want my son back. Not the CEO. Not the man who controls everything. The man who was alive. And he was only alive with you.”
I think about Dante yesterday. His anger, his contempt, and the way his eyes no longer recognized me.
“Will you come?” she asks.
If I go, I’ll suffer.
If I don’t, I’ll lose him forever.
Then I remember everything I had to survive just to come back.
“Yes,” I say at last. “I’ll come.”