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Saint-Martin-de-Boscherville was a quaint village, Christine found, not unlike the little towns that she recalled in Sweden. The homes were small, the businesses all family-owned and filled with fresh, homemade goods. She had already purchased some warm bread to bring back to her little inn room, to be shared with her husband. That poor husband of hers who couldn't bring himself to leave their room in Rouen, even though he had been the one to propose and endorse the idea in the first place.
She had been taken aback by Erik's suggestion to return to the village of his birth, especially when he informed her that his mother—that witch of a woman—was still alive and living in that very place. Christine had struggled to grasp why he wanted that, given how terrible his mother had been to him. "Closure, my sweet," he had said when she had inquired. “This chapter of my life needs a proper conclusion. Or continuation, possibly.”
And so, they made the trip to the tiny village, staying in Rouen to ensure they would have somewhere better to sleep than the tavern in Boscherville itself. Erik had come into the trip fairly confident—or so it had seemed—but had then proceeded to put off the actual visit. Christine knew that it was all because of nerves, though her husband denied it; he would never admit to being too afraid or nervous to even enter a town. Now, though, three days into their trip, they were finally standing in the village itself, in front of Erik's mother's cottage—the very same home in which he had been born and so badly mistreated.
Her husband was anxious, she could tell. He had been practically silent the entire time they had been travelling, and now he was staring blankly at the cottage, posture rigid with the only movement in his fingers as they twisted his pinky ring around and around. “Erik, I hope you know that there isn't any expectation from anyone for you to do this," Christine said softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You have no obligation to go up to the house.”
“I’ve come all this way. How can I not?” Erik replied, unable to peel his eyes away from the little house. “I have to. I should.”
Christine shook her head. "No one is saying that you should, dear. It is fine if you wish to go through with this, and I will be there with you every step of the way if you do, but there is no expectation for you to do that. It is entirely up to you."
"l was so sure leading up to this, but now that I'm here, I…I can't be certain about what I want.” Erik fell silent, mouth hanging slack as the cottage door opened and a short brown-haired woman appeared. Purely based on his reaction, Christine gleaned that it was his mother; there was a whirlwind of emotions on his face, a mix of shock, pain and heartbreak, and an abundance of conflict about how to proceed.
"She hasn't changed very much. Even after all these years," he observed, voice practically a whisper. His brow lifted, his entire expression changing when his mother turned enough that he could better see her face.
“I’m sure she would be shocked at how much you have changed,” Christine said with a small smile. “Do you want to go up?”
Erik swallowed thickly but worked up the nerve to go ahead after a few minutes of thinking and watching his mother bustle about her garden. “I think so. As long as you are with me.”
“I will be there every step of the way, my dear. You won’t be alone for a moment.” Christine looked up at him with a warm expression and intertwined their fingers as her husband began leading her toward his childhood home. He seemed to grow more nervous with each step, his hands growing clammy and his posture becoming more rigid. Christine could only hope that her presence would be a sufficient comfort since she truly didn’t know what else to do; given what she knew of Erik’s upbringing, she couldn’t understand his need to reconnect with his mother in any way. She understood his desire for closure, given how abruptly their relationship had ended, but if her parent had treated her as horribly as Madeleine had treated Erik, she would have been quite content to never speak to or see them ever again. That said, though, she knew Erik had wished for his family all his life. After losing his mother and leaving home at such a young age on top of never meeting his father, she could hardly blame him; what orphan wouldn’t wish for a family more than anything else?
Christine’s reverie was interrupted when she felt a tug on her arm, and she stopped upon noticing Erik standing a few paces behind, stock still. “Darling?” she said as she returned to his side and gently touched his arm. “What is it?”
When he failed to reply, only gesturing towards the little cottage instead, she turned to find what he was pointing out. Immediately, she understood what had made him stop; outside of the home, a young child had joined Madeleine. A little girl, one who was no older than ten, with rich brown hair, much like the other woman’s, hurried to her side, a wicker basket over her arm, and gave her a tight hug. It didn’t take a genius to realize that this was Madeleine’s child, and that was only further evidenced when a gentleman exited the cottage, smiling warmly at the pair and moving to join them. Madeleine had made an entirely new family for herself…as if her firstborn son had never existed.
The thing that Christine knew in her heart was even more crushing for Erik was to see that Madeleine’s daughter—Erik’s half-sister —was perfect. There was not a blemish to be seen on her youthful skin, not an ounce of skin deformed and wrinkled, not one part of her face distorted. Madeleine had had a completely healthy child, and she so obviously loved her; she was capable of the emotion but had deemed Erik unworthy of it simply because of his differences. It was sickening, and it infuriated Christine beyond belief.
Even still, she pushed that anger to the backburner the moment that she saw the tears pooled in her husband’s eyes. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the rush of emotions that had to be churning around in his chest. “Erik, I…I’m sorry,” she said softly as she wrapped her arms around his midsection and hugged him close.
“I…I thought she just never wanted children, I-” Erik began, only for his voice to break off, his throat tightening too much against the rush of tears to finish the sentence.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Christine whispered, finding that there was nothing else to be said rather than to apologize and sympathize. “I’m sorry that she wasn’t what you deserved.”
The couple stood silent at the bottom of the path from the little cottage, concealed just enough by trees so as not to draw attention. Christine could tell that Erik was trying to conceal his pain and heartbreak; she could feel it in the way his breaths hitched and in the tension held in his shoulder, see it in the downturn of his mouth and how his gaze was fixed on his feet. She hardly knew how to approach the situation, but she did know that she could not repair the hole that had just been torn in his heart. That would not be possible for some time, she knew.
“Erik, my love,” she whispered after minutes of silence had passed. She moved to stand in front of him, cupping his cheeks in her hands and making sure their eyes met. “Let’s go home, alright? This isn’t doing you any good anymore.”
“But…but I wanted to…to talk,” Erik stammered, his voice hoarse from his choked-back tears as he looked back at the little cottage, only to quickly return his attention to her. Christine could only imagine that the sight of the little family’s affections served to make his pain worse, so much that it was unwatchable.
“You wanted to, yes, but you don’t have to,” she reasoned. “You have no obligation to forgive her for what she’s done. Especially not now. You must know that.”
It took a moment, but the realization of what she had just said soon appeared in her husband’s eyes. It was as though it had never occurred to her that he could simply not accept his mother’s apologies if she would have even offered them. “You…you’re right. I don’t, do I?”
“No, you don’t. We could go home right now and make a life, just the two of us. She can get on with her life, and you need never forgive her. If I’m honest with you, I don’t think she deserves your forgiveness.” Christine gave him a firm, resolved as she took his handkerchief and dried his cheeks. “She thought you were dead, yes, so we cannot fault her for starting a new family; that, in itself, is not a slight. The difference in her love for her children, though? That is deliberate and cruel, and she does not deserve your forgiveness. If you were to ask me, that is.”
“Yes…yes, you’re right,” Erik said softly, a firm sense of resolve slowly beginning to appear on his face. He took one last look at the little cottage on the hill, then straightened up, standing at his full height, strong and confident-looking for the first time since they had arrived in that little village. “I don’t need that. What I do want now is…to go home. With you, and no one else.”
Christine smiled, proud of the steps that he had taken so quickly. He was learning to protect himself under her careful tutelage, and she was glad to see that it was beginning to pay off. “As do I. Come, my love. Our own little life awaits.”
Within a few weeks of that abandoned visit, the only evidence that Erik had ever been present near that little cottage was a letter placed in the mailbox, addressed to Madeleine and Madeleine alone.
Mother,
This letter is meant for nothing but information. To tell you that I am alive despite your efforts years ago to ensure the opposite. I only write because I recently became aware of your address and the fact that you are still living there. I passed through the village not long ago.
I am doing well and thriving in my new life, just as it seems you are in yours. It is good to know that you are, in fact, capable of love, though you deemed me unworthy of receiving such affection. I do not ask or wish for any apology, nor would I be able to extend forgiveness had you offered that to me. Some things simply cannot be forgiven.
I only wish to make you aware that your efforts to crush my spirits as a boy have failed. I am happy now with a wife and home of my own, and I have never been happier. I think that your knowing that is important, hence my writing this letter.
You will find that I have included no return address, which is how I want it. I would ask that you put in no effort to find me, for any such efforts will not be met with gladness or gratitude. Our lives have been separate for years now, and I believe they should stay that way.
I do wish you and your family well, despite the ill feelings that I have held towards you for all of these years. I am putting an end to the question in my life of what has happened to you with this letter. I hope you can do the same, if you ever did wonder what had become of me.
Sincerely,
Erik