Chapter 6 - A Cold Fresh Start
The icy air of Montreal hit my face like a slap of pure, refreshing reality as we stepped out of Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport.
It was late afternoon in Quebec, the sky painted in breathtaking shades of pink and orange over the snow-dusted city. Standing right beside the arrival terminal exit was my father, wearing his heavy flannel coat and a thick fur hat, his arms wide open.
"Grandpa!" Maya and Lily shrieked together, dropping their small rolling suitcases and sprinting across the pavement.
Pierre caught them both in a massive bear hug, lifting them off the ground while laughing loudly. "My sweet little snowbirds! Look at how tall you've grown!"
I walked over slowly, pulling my scarf tighter around my neck. My father set the girls down and stepped toward me, wrapping his strong arms around my shoulders. He didn't ask how the flight was. He didn't ask about Antoine. He just kissed the top of my head and whispered, "Welcome home, Chloé. You're safe now."
That was the moment the dam broke inside me. A single, hot tear spilled over my cheek, freezing instantly in the crisp Canadian air. Not a tear of sorrow—a tear of release.
While we were loading our luggage into my father's sturdy pickup truck, seven thousand kilometers away in Paris, Antoine was sitting in his corporate office on Rue de la Paix.
The clock on the wall read 11:00 PM. The office building was completely dark, save for the single desk lamp illuminating the disaster spread across Antoine's workspace.
Private investigator Jean-Luc Mercier threw a thick manila folder onto the desk.
"I ran a trace on her flight records, Mr. Bastien," Mercier said, leaning over the chair. "She didn't stay in Europe. She boarded Air Canada Flight 875 at 1:15 PM today. Destination: Montreal."
Antoine’s head snapped up. "Montreal? Her father lives there!" He reached for his passport in his desk drawer. "Book me on the first flight tomorrow morning. I’m going to get them back."
Mercier placed a heavy hand over Antoine's passport, stopping him cold.
"I wouldn't advise that, Mr. Bastien," Mercier said dryly.
"Why the hell not?!" Antoine demanded, his eyes wide and unhinged. "Those are my daughters!"
"Not legally," Mercier replied, pulling a document from his coat pocket. "I spoke with an international family law specialist an hour ago. The divorce agreement you signed this morning at 10:16 AM contains a explicit, legally binding clause under Article 372 of the Civil Code. You voluntarily relinquished all parental rights, visitation privileges, and custody claims in exchange for a full waiver of child support obligations."
"I signed that under false pretenses!" Antoine yelled, his fists clenched. "I was deceived by Victoria!"
"The court doesn't care about your mistress's lies, Mr. Bastien," Mercier said coldly. "You signed the document in front of a licensed mediator. Mrs. Laurent—she dropped your name, by the way—is now the sole legal guardian. If you set foot in Quebec and attempt to approach those children, her lawyer will have a Canadian protection order slapped on you before you even clear customs. You'll be spending your vacation in a Montreal holding cell."
Antoine fell back into his leather chair, staring at the ceiling as if the room were collapsing around him.
"She planned this..." Antoine muttered, realization dawning on him. "She knew... She knew I’d sign it..."
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"She didn't know your mistress was lying to you, Mr. Bastien," Mercier corrected him, picking up his hat. "She just knew what kind of father you were. She gave you an exit door, and you sprinted through it with a smile on your face. You can't blame her for locking it behind you."
Mercier turned and walked out of the office, his footsteps fading down the dark corridor, leaving Antoine alone with his empty, silent victory.
