Marseilles

Marcel stood in the doorway, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive jacket. He was still the same successful businessman, only his gaze had grown heavier. Six years ago, he'd simply packed his things, said, "I don't love you, I need to expand my business in the capital," and left.

"I've achieved a lot, but I realized it's all pointless without you," he began, stepping into the apartment. "I'm sorry I left you then. I was obsessed with success."

You froze, clutching the kitchen towel so tightly your knuckles turned white. An unbearable resentment flared inside you.

"Forgive me?" Your voice trembled from a suppressed scream. "You left and left me to be torn apart by those girls who were crazy about you in the office!"

Marcel blinked in confusion:
— Who are you talking about? The co-workers? They're just... well, lovers, the usual competition.

"Competition?!" you snapped. "Your 'adoring fans' banded together and hired people, Marcel! A month after you left, they ambushed me and beat me up so I wouldn't 'dared ruin your image.' And I was pregnant! Your baby!"

Marcel's face instantly fell.

• What are you saying...

"I screamed at them that I was going to have a baby, but they only hit me harder. That night I had a miscarriage. And then the doctors told me I could never have any more children. I'm infertile! Because of your fans and your running away. Go back to your city. You have everything there except a conscience."