THE SEVENTH CHAIR
News of Julien’s company reached me through Antoine, who happened to read about it in a financial newspaper while we were still aboard the yacht.
Julien’s logistics company, after a series of risky investments in new shipping routes through the Red Sea, ran into serious trouble when regional tensions sent insurance and operating costs soaring.
The company filed for bankruptcy protection one February morning, just two months after Marcus’s exhibition.
I felt no satisfaction hearing the news — which surprised even me.
I only felt a distant sadness, like watching a storm pass over a house I once lived in, even though I no longer belonged there.
Marcus held my hand when he saw me reading the news, said nothing, just stayed close.
Three days later, my phone rang, Margaux’s name on the screen.
I hesitated a moment before answering.
“Camille…” her voice broke from the very first word, so unlike the confident tone I’d known my whole life. “Have you heard about Julien’s company?”
“I heard,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Are you all right?”
“No,” she burst into tears over the phone, her sobs unmistakable. “We have to sell the apartment, sell the car. Théo is still so young, I don’t know how we’re going to manage.”
I listened quietly, not interrupting.
“I know I have no right to call you after everything that’s happened,” Margaux continued, her voice shaking. “But I didn’t know who else to call. Our parents are struggling too, since their apartment was co-owned with Julien.”
“What do you want me to do, Margaux?”
A long silence.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice growing small. “I just… I just need to talk to someone who understands right now.”
I looked out at the sea through the cabin window, thinking about the wedding day, about the seven chairs, about the words “you always make everything such a big deal” she had once said to me.
“Margaux,” I said, my voice gentle but firm, “I’m truly sorry for what’s happening to you. But I can’t be the person you call only when everything falls apart, when for all these years, you were never that person for me.”
She fell silent on the other end, her sobs fading slowly.
“I’m not saying I’ll never speak to you again,” I continued. “But I need time. And I think, perhaps, you need time too, to understand what really happened — not just with Julien’s company, but with how our family has treated each other for years.”
The call ended in silence, not angry, but without full reconciliation either.
That evening, I received another message from Margaux, her tone entirely different from the earlier warm ones.
“Camille, I know I have no right to ask anything of you after everything that happened. But I’m in real trouble. Could you help me?”
I read that message several times, feeling a tangle of emotions all at once — not satisfaction, not full sympathy either.
I didn’t answer it right away.
Not because I wanted to punish her.
But because, for the first time in my life, I let myself take the time to feel everything fully, before deciding what to do with it.
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