For twelve years Marguerite had led this double life in silence. Her full-time job on the one hand, her mother's care on the other. She had put her own existence on hold, almost naturally, without complaint. It was so.
One ordinary evening, his phone vibrated. Brenda, crying on the other end of the line.
"Your mother has just sent me away. There's a man here I don't know. She claims that he will take care of her from now on.
Marguerite left her office in a hurry, her computer still on behind her.
This man who seemed to be predestined for tenderness
When she pushed open the bedroom door, she saw him immediately. Tall, with an imposing beard, tattoos covering his neck, a black leather jacket carelessly placed on the back of a chair. Louis was his first name. His physique did not really evoke delicacy.
