Two figures were approaching slowly: one tall and massive, the other smaller and rounder. The murmurs were becoming increasingly audible. They sounded like insults, most likely coming from the larger figure. Soon, two men emerged from among the trees. The more imposing one was still muttering into his thick beard, stumbling over the roots crossing his path.
Annabelle exchanged a glance with the priest. Though she was a little uncertain, she had an idea of who they might be. The night before, the mayor had knocked on her door. He had come to warn her that members of her mother's family would be arriving soon to take custody of her. Though hesitant, she had asked who they were. He had informed her that they were her two maternal uncles.
Two uncles she had never seen in her life. Whose existence she hadn't even known about. That night, she chose not to think about it. She already had enough to deal with regarding the upcoming funeral.
Now, she slightly regretted not having worried about it earlier.
When she looked at her uncles, she expected to feel something special, a connection. But nothing came—it was just two strangers to her. Instead, she felt anger, and a repressed frustration. Why were they arriving only now? Why hadn't they been there before?
She was completely shattered by the death of her parents. Her father's unexplained death from an unknown cause, which couldn't have just been a simple illness. Her mother, who, in the depths of despair, had taken her own life.
Crushed by the events, which followed one another without leaving any time to catch her breath. She would have been alone, if not for the presence of Amandinne, who supported her. She had trouble imagining these strangers taking control of her life.
The small, chubby man stepped forward first, speaking with a smile, his face kind.
— Hello Annabelle, my name is Nicolas, and this is Georges, my brother. I believe the mayor informed you. We are your uncles.
Nicolas spoke in a voice he tried to make as gentle and warm as possible. She didn't answer immediately, moving closer to the priest, still wary.
Suddenly, a quiet sniffle broke the silence. Then a second, louder one followed. Georges, his shoulders trembling with sobs he was trying to suppress. His face contorted into a mask of grief and misery at the loss of his sister. A decade without a single word. A decade lost to stubborn refusal to forgive. A decade without making the first move to contact her again.
He took a step forward, then another, but it was too late. Moving with difficulty toward her final resting place. He passed by Annabelle without seeing her, without paying attention to his niece. He and Nicolas were both dressed entirely in black for the occasion: luxurious leather shoes, satin pants, shirts under their tailcoats, topped with tall top hats.
He raised a trembling hand and placed it on the cold, lifeless stone.
Annabelle flinched—he had placed it in the exact same spot as she had during the funeral.
Nicolas watched her; he didn't seem to share his brother's grief. Instead, he looked at the little girl dressed in white. A pure white, gleaming in the sunlight. Something must have happened for her to refuse to dress properly for such a moment.
Annabelle noticed, and spoke despite the cold lump still stuck in her throat.
— Did you know... that I existed before?
Nicolas froze. How could he have known? Their sister had left with that frail man about ten years ago. He knew she had argued with their parents about it. Then she had left in a fury and never returned. At the time, he had been just 15. Georges, on the other hand, had already been 25—maybe that made a difference for him? He didn't feel as emotional.
Still, he removed his hat as a sign of respect. For the woman who was tied to him by blood.
— Annabelle... I don't really know how to say this. But we didn't know our sister had a child with Albert. After... well, everything, the mayor had to clean the house where you live. In your parents' bedroom, he found a letter with Georges's name and our address written on it.
Nicolas opened the collar of his tailcoat and slid his right hand inside. He pulled out a letter yellowed with time, its seal visibly broken. In a split second, the girl recognized the handwriting on the paper. Her legs gave out as she looked at the letters traced by her mother. Nicolas quickly caught her, letting out a sigh.
— I know it's not easy to accept, but she had already planned everything in advance. This letter came with the one the mayor sent us explaining the situation. He opened the seal to get more information and discovered that Éléna had two brothers, me and Georges.
The news was painful to accept. Months before doing the unthinkable, she had planned it all. The mayor had taken it upon himself to open the letter and found out she had two uncles.
The priest, who had remained silent until then, spoke.
— Jonathan, the mayor, asked me to let you know that you should come to the church with me. It's a small village, he borrowed my office so the documents could be signed. The notary from the neighboring village will also be there. But before that...
The priest also took something out from under his robe—a small notebook. Annabelle immediately recognized it: her father's notebook. She snatched it from his hands at once, surprising him. The difference in how she treated the letter and the notebook was obvious.
Annabelle ran her fingers along the worn leather edges. She tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall at any moment. To do so, she turned around abruptly and also grabbed the letter from Nicolas's hand. She unfolded the paper without delay and read the words her mother had left behind. Brief words, but heavy with meaning.
Dear Georges, it's been a long time since we last saw each other.If you are reading these words, then I am no longer in this world.I ask you to take care of my daughter, Annabelle.— Éléna.
— That's it… Annabelle turned the letter over, but there was nothing else on it. On the envelope, the familial connection was indicated by Éléna, along with the address of their old manor.
Her hands tightened around the paper, crumpling it. She felt like an old pair of worn-out shoes, thrown away once they're completely used up. An object abandoned without hesitation. How could she have done this to her? How could she have abandoned her without remorse?
This time, the tears she had held back for too long flowed freely. A scream, like a wounded beast, rose into the cemetery. Crouched on the ground, she felt torn apart inside.
Nicolas leaned down quickly, taking her in his arms. He patted her back, hoping to soothe her.
— Don't worry, Annabelle, we're here now. We'll take care of you.
She pulled away from him.— What do you know? We don't even know each other.
The priest stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder.— Think of your father, Annabelle. I'm sure he would have wanted you to be happy. To have a family who protects you.
This time, the girl faltered, no longer so sure. She trusted this priest—he had been with their family since her father's death. He was the one who had asked Amandinne to look after her. He was the one who brought them food every day, rain or shine.
Amandinne, such a kind nun. She wanted so badly to see her again.— I'll go. I'll go to the church. But I want to see Amandinne.
The priest smiled with relief.— Of course, Amandinne is waiting for us at the church.
Annabelle froze, suddenly remembering something important.Why wasn't Amandinne there?