And suddenly, everything became clear.
This little girl looked like him.
“What is your mother’s name?” he asked.
“Mireille. Mireille Konaté.”
The name struck him like a blow.
Mireille—the woman he had loved. The woman who had left eleven years earlier.
He took a slow breath.
“Take me to her.”
Julie hesitated—but something in his expression convinced her.
She nodded.
“Follow me.”
They walked through the narrow alleyways.
James, in his perfectly tailored suit, stepped through mud and scattered garbage without even noticing.
His mind was somewhere else entirely.
Eleven years earlier.
They were sixteen. Young. In love.
He had left to study abroad, promising he would come back.
But life had carried him far away.
And now he was about to meet his past.
Julie stopped in front of a broken wooden door.
“It’s here.”
James pushed it open.
The smell hit him first.
Then the darkness.
And then—her.
Mireille lay on the mattress, weak, burning with fever.
For illustration purposes only
Yet still beautiful.
James dropped to his knees.
“Mireille… it’s me.”
She opened her eyes.
“James…”
Tears spilled instantly.
Eleven years of silence.
Everything came rushing back.
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