The Price of Silence

He met her again by chance, in a forgotten bar near Montparnasse. The same perfume, the same quiet smile, but her eyes carried the fatigue of unspoken things. Years ago, Étienne had borrowed money from her father — money that was supposed to save his business. Instead, it had drowned him in deceit.

Now, he lived in shadows, selling what remained of his dignity to survive. She didn’t mention the debt. She only asked, softly, “Did you ever find peace?”

He couldn’t answer. The truth was too heavy. As she left, her silhouette disappeared into the Paris fog, like a memory too fragile to hold.

That night, Étienne walked back to his small apartment, took the envelope hidden beneath his floorboards, and set it aflame. The ashes rose, silent, weightless — just like the years he’d wasted chasing forgiveness that would never come.

Outside, the city whispered, indifferent as ever.