He never imagined that PierreLuc Dumont would end his days behind foreign gates, watched over by nurses, surrounded by souls abandoned by their own children. He felt he deserved more: respect, warmth, a little peace. After all, he had spent his whole life working, providing for his family, building his routine around his sole happinesshis wife Élodie and their daughter Margaux.
He and Élodie had shared more than thirty years, inseparable as fingers on a hand. After she passed away four years earlier, the house grew cold and overly silent. His only solace was Margaux and his granddaughter, Amélie. He helped as best he could: looking after the child, giving his pension for groceries, watching over her when his daughter and soninlaw were out or at work. Then everything changed.
Margaux began to look at him askance whenever he lingered in the kitchen. His cough irritated her. Dad, youve lived enough, let others live! became a refrain. Talk of a comfortable residence with doctors and a TV multiplied. PierreLuc resisted.
Margaux, this is my flat. If it feels cramped, go stay with your motherinlaw. She lives alone in a threeroom apartment.
You know very well we dont get along. And dont start again! she snapped.
You just want the flat back. Instead of chasing your father away, earn a living!
She called him selfish, threatened to find a solution. A week later he packed his bagsnot out of desire, but because he could no longer bear being a intruder in his own home. He left without a word. Margaux beamed, almost carrying him to the door.
In the retirement home they assigned him a narrow room with a window and an old television. PierreLuc spent his days in the garden, under the sky, among other forgotten souls.
Did your children place you here? asked a fellow benchmate one day.
Yes, my daughter decided I was a burden, he replied, holding back tears.
Same for me. My son chose his wife. They threw me out. Im Colette.
PierreLuc. Nice to meet you.
They became friends; the pain felt lighter shared. A year passed. Margaux never called. She never returned.
One afternoon, while reading, a familiar voice made him start.
PierreLuc? I didnt expect to see you here, exclaimed his former neighbor, Claire, a doctor visiting the residents.
Yes, its been a year. No one wants me anymore. Not a word.
Strange Margaux said youd bought a country house to rest.
I would have preferred rather than rotting here behind these bars.
Claire shook her head, puzzled. After her rounds she returned, unable to shake the conversation. Two weeks later she made an offer:
PierreLuc, my mothers house in Provence is empty. She left last year; we sold her belongings. The house is sturdy, with a wood and a river nearby. If you want it, its yours. I wont go back, and selling it breaks my heart.
PierreLuc wept. A stranger was giving him what his own daughter had denied.
May I ask one thing? Theres a woman here Colette. Shes also alone. Id like us to go together.
Of course, smiled Claire. If she agrees, no problem.
PierreLuc ran to Colette:
Get ready! Were leaving! A house in Provence, fresh air, freedom. Itll be wonderful. Why stay here?
Lets go! For a new life!
They packed, bought provisions. Claire drove them herself, refusing they take the shuttle. PierreLuc hugged her, unable to voice his gratitude, whispering, Dont tell Margaux. I dont want to hear about her.
Claire smiled and obliged. She hadnt done anything extraordinaryjust acted humanely, which today borders on heroism.
