Millie

The Stranger Next Door For five years, I had lived in this large apartment. I wasn’t the type to interfere in my neighbors’ lives, but those next door attracted my attention in spite of myself. The man, always tired and angry, often passed me by without a glance. His wife, however, was different. A fragile beauty, with her long blond hair and emerald eyes, like a glimmer of gentleness in a world that was too brutal. I sometimes heard her begging her husband, year after year, to have a child. He always refused forcefully, sometimes angrily. But one evening, everything changed. Screams broke out in the hallway. Curious and worried, I opened my door a crack. What I saw froze my blood. The man, his face distorted by rage, was holding suitcases. The woman, collapsed in tears, clutched a pregnancy test in her trembling hand. — You can’t do this to me! she screamed, her voice breaking. — You did it all by yourself! he spat before turning on his heel. She cried all the tears in her body, unable to move, before disappearing into her apartment, alone. I stood there frozen, unable to look away. My heart clenched, but I didn’t intervene. It wasn’t my business. Days passed, then weeks. Three months went by. And she… she seemed to have disappeared. I didn’t see her anymore, didn’t hear her voice anymore. Worry was eating away at me without me wanting to admit it. Then, one evening, as I was coming home from work, I finally saw her. She was walking slowly, her gaze lost, the shadow of a sad smile on her lips. I followed her without really thinking about it. The journey seemed endless until she arrived in front of a beach. She was there, motionless facing the ocean, the wind gently lifting her golden hair. I stopped a few meters away, hesitating....