The sweep of the wind against the fallen leaves gave the yard a slightly odd touch. Barbara frowned in surprise that the situation felt so empty. It was late enough in the afternoon that Moreau's car should have been spotted, for she knew it was past rehearsal time, as well as her determination to schedule an early return. Barbara didn't know what to do alone in Paris after the show was over. Samuel wasn't there to keep her company, and the real man she was waiting for the most... had also broken his promise without a word until now.
Thought it best not to say anything about her return. No need to hint about things to Abihirt. Intended to catch up with her husband's luxurious residence later, after she had sufficiently calmed down from the bath. One step Barbara... intending to resume her pending actions. She was holding the suitcase, shuffling with a firm footstep, when finally the sound of a car roarJust a glimpse... Barbara noticed a faint twitch of the man's eyebrows, and in that instant Abihirt had placed a hand on the line of her shoulder. Almost squeezing, but not really."I don't know which Moreau's perfume you're referring to." It was said very convincingly. Barbara pursed her lips instinctively. Her husband's calm demeanor never seemed to cross the line. They began to step into the house after Abihirt took over the grip on the suitcase to follow every inch of their steps. "The perfume I gave her. There's still a sample of it in our room, maybe you accidentally wore it?" Shallow memories unexpectedly filled in the gaps at the top of Barbara's knowledge. She was slightly relieved after being able to reach the forgotten image. A month or two ago, aquatic perfumes like the scent of the sea and fresh air were left to the thrifty Moreau
Moreau's breath caught when she opened the door to the house and suddenly found out her mother was there. Sitting on the sofa with her legs sandwiched between Abihirt's torso, while the man so calmly leaned back on the sofa leg with his face upturned, facing a single point, where Barbara was unusually focused on adding a light massage after the woman had applied a thick gel on his jaw. Surprise. A simple romance, which Moreau never thought she would find here. Just like she never thought that her stepfather would put all his trust in the woman who coincidentally found Moreau still standing at the door. Nervous when their eye contact met. "You're back later than scheduled practice?" That was the first time Moreau got it. Occasionally she would glance at her stepfather's face. Abihirt didn't even care, whether she arrived home after a lon
Early in the morning, Moreau could hardly remember facing such an entertaining situation when she noticed that some guests, her mother's family, had arrived and were gathered at the dining table. It just so happened that little Troyas was playing with a tableware on a woman's lap. Moreau immediately stepped closer, occasionally rubbing the stocky cheek, whose owner seemed indifferent to the other arrivals. "Can I borrow your son for a moment, Lauren?" She reached out impatiently, knowing that the woman called carefully, the niece of her mother, never minded leaving the two-year-old boy, or Moreau could call the adorable little nephew. She kissed Troyas' face when the boy was too busy playing with the plastic spoon in his hand. The baby scent was still so distinctive. Moreau couldn't resist even more, sniffing the back of the tightly packed neck while hugging Troyas, letting the little boy sit on her lap quietly.
"That's good that you like it. I had a little trouble choosing what you wanted." An honest statement. Moreau felt a little flattered by the attention. Something she would always say that Barbara almost never understood the details of her inner desires. Surprising enough, but it wouldn't go too far. Moreau smiled slightly, again, then said, "Thank you, Mom." Her mother nodded briefly. That was it, with her gaze fixed straight at the kitchen door, the point where Abihirt had left them. The need to follow seemed to radiate from Barbara's shoulders. Moreau understood the desire her mother was preparing for, so chose to carefully embrace Troyas' stocky body. Lauren had finished feeding the boy, gently excusing herself to put the dishes in the wash. Troyas' body was writhing, wanting to get down, and was about to glue his feet to the cold floor. Moreau was not brave enough to push her
"What's going on?" The anticipation-laden question was the last Moreau could spare after silently noticing her mother was already in the back with the towering Abihirt. The pause between them left the tension to continue gripping, but nevertheless, she had to make eye contact. Something that instinctively made Moreau hold her breath when she got a pure reaction from Barbara. Silence, so slow to digest the situation there. The attention of those irises, blank, riveted to a single scene on the floor. The shards of the urn had been scattered. Yet, she was the one who had to be responsible for resolving the events here. Woefully, Moreau had not yet had a chance to say anything, while the tendrils she noticed Lauren seemed to be struggling to find her son's whereabouts. Troyas reacted instantly to the woman's arriv
"Don't you know that is my favorite urn, Moreau?" There was no choice. There was a crisis behind the exceptional decision that had been floated as an act of determination. The initial question the woman had felt like a desire to give Moreau a hard-on. That Barbara might have gotten. Vigilance rose on par with the eye contact between them. Moreau knew she had to be careful, but trying to brush off her mother's anger was futile. There was no guarantee that the woman would make the right choice. Moreau could only watch as Barbara suddenly pointed out something. The woman knew all too well how much the object in her hand meant to Moreau. "What do you want to do, Mom?" Moreau asked with a wary tone. Another object in Barbara's hand confirmed something. Scissors. She knew this was going to be the brutal part of the decision to come.
It should not have been a surprise. Barbara's habits were always the same. Giving and convincing everyone of how powerful she was. Moreau almost laughed bitterly at the thought of being too naive to think Barbara had changed a bit. At the woman's request, something that had not even been done yet. However, Barbara deliberately snatched the bracelet from her hand. Something so painful that Moreau winced. Despairing when the woman was unable to wrestle the interlocking chains away, then undoing the clasp was met with the same roughness. One slap was added to make Moreau's face turn away violently. "This is a lesson because you dared to yell at me." Stinging and numbness mixed in the first reaction Moreau could feel. She held her face as she carefully looked at something still left in the woman's hand.
"I apologize for the mess, Miss. You didn't have to do this to protect me. If I get fired, that's probably what I deserve. Not you. It wasn't your things that were taken and damaged." Moreau had never expected Caroline to catch up as soon as the woman had cleared the scattered jars. She didn't look Caroline in the face, but the guilt behind the woman's voice was unmistakable. This wasn't right. The mess started because she was chasing after Troyas. If only Moreau hadn't been enthusiastic enough to take Troyas for a spin. That shocking scene would never have happened. Barbara's urn wouldn't have been giggled at, dropped, broken, messed up, and most importantly, Moreau wouldn't have found her father's gift jacket to be targeted, helpless, and perforated in one spot with a—for her—horrible hole. "It's okay, Caroline. I don't blame you, but can you leave me alone? I don't want to be disturbed."