Page 36 of The Vines Between Us
The news from your doctor has shattered me. Six months? Howcan they reduce our remaining time to such a cruel number? After almost fifty years, it seems impossible that we should be parted.
I cannot imagine this world without you in it. You have been my north star, my true home, the love that defined my life even as I failed to acknowledge it publicly.
I should have been braver. We should have claimed our happiness openly. What was I protecting? A reputation? Social standing? None of it matters without you.
I will be by your side through every treatment, every moment of pain. The world may see a concerned friend and business partner, but we will know the truth.
I love you beyond reason, beyond breath.
Henri
I couldn't continue. Something broke open inside me—a dam I'd built against feeling too deeply, against the vulnerability that had terrified me since childhood. Tears came in a flood I couldn't control.
"Alexandre," Hugo said softly, moving to kneel before me.
"All those years," I managed between sobs. "They loved each other so completely, and yet they had to hide. My grandfather lived a double life for half a century, loving Claude while married to my grandmother."
Hugo's hands found my shoulders, steadying me. "And still, they chose to love. Despite everything."
"Henri's final journal entry," I said, wiping at my eyes. "He wrote that he couldn't bear the world without Claude in it. That a life half-lived is no life at all."
"That explains why he followed Claude so quickly," Hugo said. "Three months after."
"He wrote that when love presents itself, you should grasp it with both hands and never let go." My voice broke on the words. "But I've spent my entire adult life doing the opposite—running from connection, from vulnerability. From you."
Hugo's hands tightened on my shoulders. "Alexandre—"
"If Henri could love that deeply, despite everything, maybe..."I couldn't finish, overcome again by tears that felt like they'd been waiting fourteen years to fall.
Hugo pulled me against him, holding me through the storm as he gently guided me away from Claude's bedroom. His shirt grew damp beneath my cheek, but he didn't pull away. His hands moved in soothing circles on my back, his breath warm against my hair. We paused at the end of the corridor, where he pushed open a familiar door. The room beyond faced the western vineyards, walls painted a warm terracotta that caught the fading light.
This was Hugo's sanctuary—where we'd spent countless hours as teenagers, reading comics sprawled across the floor, sharing secrets in whispered voices. I recognized the painting above his bed—his work from our final summer together—the vineyard at sunset captured in bold, passionate strokes. As he set me down on the edge of his bed, the sheets smelled of lavender and sunshine, a scent so distinctly Hugo that it tugged at forgotten memories.
This space breathed with his present life while still holding echoes of our shared past. There was comfort in the familiar creak of the floorboards, in the way the light slanted through the half-drawn curtains—just as it had when we were teenagers and desperate for each other, terrified of being caught but unable to stay apart.
"It's okay," he murmured. "Let it out."
When the tears finally subsided, I remained in his embrace, unwilling to break the connection. The morning light had shifted, casting golden patterns across the scattered letters—physical evidence of a love that had survived despite every obstacle.
"They were so brave," I whispered against Hugo's shoulder. "In their own way."
"Yes," Hugo agreed. "And so careful. All those years we spent here as teenagers, and we never suspected."
I pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. "Do you think they were happy? Despite the secrecy?"
Hugo considered this, his eyes moving over the letters spreadacross the desk and floor. "I think they created happiness within the constraints they accepted. But I also think Henri's final message was clear—he regretted not choosing love more openly."
I nodded, suddenly aware of how close we were, of Hugo's hands still resting on my waist, of the warmth of his body against mine.
"I've spent years trying to be safe," I admitted. "Building walls, avoiding vulnerability, appeasing my father. And what do I have to show for it? An empty apartment. Colleagues instead of friends. Success that means nothing because there's no one to share it with."
Hugo's eyes never left mine. "It's never too late to choose differently."
His hand moved to my face, thumb gently wiping away the remnants of tears on my cheek. The tenderness of the gesture undid me completely.
When he leaned forward to kiss me, I didn't run. I didn't pull away. Instead, I met him halfway, my hands finding the back of his neck, drawing him closer.
The kiss deepened, years of separation dissolving in the heat between us. His mouth was both familiar and new—the same fullness to his lips that I remembered from our teenage summers, but with a man's confidence replacing youthful urgency.
