Chapter 3: The First Glimmers

The night enveloped the Langlois house in an almost oppressive calm. In the living room, the irregular ticking of the wall clock marked the silence, each second echoing like a cruel reminder for Victor Langlois. He lay there, motionless on his folding bed, eyes fixed on the dancing shadows cast by the streetlights through the flowered curtains. The wind whistled outside, causing the wisteria branches to crack against the window. He wasn't sleeping – he couldn't. His mind, that of a 49-year-old man used to sleepless nights of calculations and innovation, refused to shut off, despite the limitations of his infant body.

The quiet creaking of the floor announced someone's approach. Victor slightly turned his head, an effort that still cost him, and saw Élise entering the living room. She wore a worn bathrobe, her hair tied in a loose bun. In the dim light of a bedside lamp, her face betrayed her fatigue, but her eyes still shone with the tenderness he was beginning to recognize as a constant in her.

She stopped by the folding bed, resting a hand on the wooden edge. For a moment, she simply watched him, a soft smile curling her lips.

— You're not sleeping, are you? she murmured, as if afraid of waking someone else. You're a little curious one.

Victor gazed back at her, unable to respond. He wondered what she saw in his eyes. A normal baby might have closed its eyelids, gurgled, or cried to get attention. He remained silent, observing. Élise tilted her head, intrigued, then reached out to adjust the yellow blanket covering him.

— You need to sleep, my treasure, she whispered. Tomorrow, we'll have a big day. Your grandmother is coming to visit.

Victor noted this information in the corner of his mind. His paternal grandmother, Colette, a strong-willed woman he remembered fearing during his childhood. She lived about thirty kilometers away, in a village even more modest than their suburb, and spent her time knitting or criticizing modernity.

Élise walked away after a last glance, her light footsteps fading down the hall. Victor heard the creaking of a bedframe – she was going back to lie down next to Paul. The house fell back into silence, and he was left alone with his thoughts.

He reflected on his situation. This first day had been endless, a mixture of frustration and passive observation. He had cataloged every detail: Paul's hesitant voice, Élise's tender but awkward gestures, the smell of the house – a mix of aged wood and lemon that reminded him of blurry childhood memories. But this was only the beginning. He had to wait, let his body grow, while preparing his mind for what would come next.

Morning arrived with gray light filtering through the curtains. Victor heard the sound of a chair being moved in the kitchen, followed by the clink of a spoon against a cup. Paul was already up, probably making his coffee before heading to the garage. A few minutes later, the smell of cheap ground coffee filled the air, blending with the scent of toasted bread. Élise appeared soon after, humming a tune she interrupted occasionally with a yawn.

She approached the folding bed, her eyes still swollen with sleep, and carefully lifted him.

— Good morning, my little sunshine, she said, settling him against her shoulder. I hope you slept well?

Victor didn't answer, of course, but he felt the warmth of her body through his cotton pajamas. She carried him to the kitchen, where Paul was sitting at the round table, a half-buttered toast in one hand and a local newspaper in the other. He looked up when they entered, adjusting his glasses which still slid down his nose.

— He looks good, he commented, a shy smile on his lips.

— Of course he does, replied Élise, laughing. He's our champion.

She placed Victor in a high chair that Paul must have assembled the day before – a white plastic model stained by time, probably handed down from a neighbor. Victor watched the scene, noting the simplicity of their routine. Paul was reading the headlines of the newspaper – something about a recent attack in the United States, an event Victor was familiar with and already predicted its economic repercussions. Élise, meanwhile, prepared a bottle with almost comical precision, checking the milk's temperature against her wrist as if it were an exact science.

— What time are you leaving? she asked Paul, handing him a second slice of toast.

— In twenty minutes, he mumbled between bites. The boss wants me to finish changing the oil in a truck before noon.

Victor listened, still. Paul worked at a garage a few streets away, a stable but low-paying job. Élise would soon return to her cashier job once she recovered from childbirth. Their life was predictable, modest, and yet, they seemed content. He wondered what they thought of their future. Were they raising their son with modest dreams – a stable job, a family of their own – or did they secretly hope he would accomplish something extraordinary?

Élise sat across from Paul, placing Victor on her lap. She handed him the bottle, which he reluctantly accepted. The taste of the powdered milk was bland, almost sickening for a man who had enjoyed black coffee and sophisticated dishes in his previous life. But he had to eat, grow, strengthen this fragile body. He sucked slowly, his eyes shifting between his mother and father.

— Do you think he looks like us? asked Paul, folding his newspaper.

— Oh, he has your nose, replied Élise with a teasing smile. But I hope he has my character. We don't need a second grumpy person in this house.

Paul chuckled, a hoarse but warm sound. Victor watched them, analyzing their dynamic. They loved each other, that was clear, but their relationship bore the marks of a tough life – jokes to mask worries, silences that spoke volumes. He wondered how long he could stay in the shadows before they noticed something unusual about him.

The morning passed in peaceful slowness. Paul left for work after a quick kiss on Élise's forehead and a clumsy pat on Victor's head. Élise spent the next hour tidying the house, still humming, while Victor remained in his high chair, observing every movement. She washed the dishes, folded a pile of worn clothes, and spoke aloud as if addressing him.

— Your grandma will arrive around noon, you know. She's eager to see you. She says she knitted you a scarf, but I bet it'll be too big for you!

Victor smiled inwardly. Colette and her knitting. He remembered a red scarf she had given him – a monster of wool that scratched and that he had hated wearing. This time, he would have to pretend enthusiasm.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, he felt physical fatigue overwhelm him. His baby body had its limits, and he had to close his eyes, letting Élise bring him back to the folding bed.