{"id":26113,"date":"2026-02-28T01:12:04","date_gmt":"2026-02-27T22:12:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mybook.am\/?p=26113"},"modified":"2026-02-28T01:12:05","modified_gmt":"2026-02-27T22:12:05","slug":"lodeur-du-parfum-de-ma-mere-flottait-encore-dans-la-maison-longtemps-apres-sa-mort","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mybook.am\/?p=26113","title":{"rendered":"L\u2019odeur du parfum de ma m\u00e8re flottait encore dans la maison longtemps apr\u00e8s sa mort."},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Les murs semblaient retenir son souffle. Le cancer l\u2019avait effac\u00e9e morceau par morceau. Chaque jour emportait une partie d\u2019elle que je ne reverrai jamais. Parfois elle riait malgr\u00e9 la douleur, juste pour me rassurer. Parfois elle restait immobile, les yeux perdus, murmurant des excuses d\u2019\u00eatre \u00ab compliqu\u00e9e \u00bb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Compliqu\u00e9e. Comme si mourir \u00e9tait une faute.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Deux personnes ne quittaient presque jamais sa chambre. Mon beau-p\u00e8re, Paul. Et sa meilleure amie, Linda. Je leur faisais confiance. Ils tenaient sa main, apportaient des soupes, parlaient d\u2019espoir avec une douceur presque parfaite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trois semaines apr\u00e8s les fun\u00e9railles, Paul m\u2019a demand\u00e9 de m\u2019asseoir avec lui \u00e0 la table de la cuisine. La tasse pr\u00e9f\u00e9r\u00e9e de ma m\u00e8re \u00e9tait toujours rang\u00e9e dans le placard. Son foulard pendait encore pr\u00e8s de la porte.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Il \u00e9vitait mon regard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Il faut que je te le dise moi-m\u00eame \u00bb, a-t-il commenc\u00e9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mon c\u0153ur s\u2019est serr\u00e9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Je vais me remarier. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Le silence a frapp\u00e9 plus fort qu\u2019un cri.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Avec\u2026 qui ? \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Avec Linda. Ta m\u00e8re aurait voulu que nous soyons heureux. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ils se sont mari\u00e9s une semaine plus tard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Un mois apr\u00e8s la mort de ma m\u00e8re. Roses blanches. Lumi\u00e8res dor\u00e9es. Champagne. Je n\u2019\u00e9tais pas invit\u00e9e, mais j\u2019ai vu les photos circuler. Linda portait la couleur pr\u00e9f\u00e9r\u00e9e de ma m\u00e8re. Elle souriait avec une innocence \u00e9tudi\u00e9e.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Puis j\u2019ai appris qu\u2019ils avaient mis en gage le collier en or de ma m\u00e8re. Celui qu\u2019elle m\u2019avait promis.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Quand je leur ai demand\u00e9 pourquoi, Linda a ri.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab La nostalgie ne paie pas une lune de miel. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Son rire m\u2019a glac\u00e9e.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Quelques jours plus tard, une amie de la famille m\u2019a prise \u00e0 part. Elle parlait presque sans voix.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Ils \u00e9taient d\u00e9j\u00e0 ensemble avant\u2026 Ils disaient que ta m\u00e8re \u00e9tait \u00e9puisante. Ils parlaient de l\u2019apr\u00e8s. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Un souvenir m\u2019a travers\u00e9e comme une lame. Linda, dans le salon, quelques mois plus t\u00f4t :
\u00ab J\u2019ai h\u00e2te qu\u2019on n\u2019ait plus \u00e0 faire semblant. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Alors moi aussi, j\u2019ai fait semblant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Je souriais. Je disais que le chagrin me rendait fragile. Que je voulais la paix. Ils m\u2019ont crue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Une semaine plus tard, je les ai invit\u00e9s chez moi. Je leur ai tendu une petite bo\u00eete soigneusement emball\u00e9e.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Un cadeau de mariage. Quelque chose de sp\u00e9cial\u2026 de la part de maman. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ils l\u2019ont ouverte.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paul est devenu livide. Linda a pouss\u00e9 un cri aigu.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00c0 l\u2019int\u00e9rieur : des copies de messages. Des captures d\u2019\u00e9cran. Des dates. Des mois avant la mort de ma m\u00e8re.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Je n\u2019en peux plus d\u2019attendre. \u00bb
\u00ab Bient\u00f4t nous serons libres. \u00bb
\u00ab Son traitement ne changera rien. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Et une cl\u00e9 USB.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J\u2019ai allum\u00e9 la t\u00e9l\u00e9vision. La cam\u00e9ra que ma m\u00e8re avait install\u00e9e quand elle commen\u00e7ait \u00e0 oublier ses m\u00e9dicaments avait tout enregistr\u00e9. L\u2019image montrait Paul et Linda dans le salon. Rires. Baiser. La date clignotait en bas de l\u2019\u00e9cran.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Deux mois avant qu\u2019elle ne s\u2019\u00e9teigne.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Linda tremblait.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Tu es folle ! Tu nous as espionn\u00e9s ? \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Je suis rest\u00e9e calme. \u00c9trangement calme.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Non. J\u2019ai juste arr\u00eat\u00e9 d\u2019\u00eatre na\u00efve. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Le plus insupportable n\u2019\u00e9tait pas leur mariage. Ni le collier vendu. C\u2019\u00e9tait la fa\u00e7on dont ils parlaient d\u2019elle alors qu\u2019elle respirait encore. Comme d\u2019un obstacle. D\u2019un poids. D\u2019un probl\u00e8me sur le point de dispara\u00eetre.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Et elle s\u2019excusait d\u2019\u00eatre \u00ab difficile \u00bb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cette nuit-l\u00e0, j\u2019ai relu son testament. Une clause que Paul n\u2019avait sans doute pas prise au s\u00e9rieux : s\u2019il se remariait dans les six mois suivant son d\u00e9c\u00e8s, il perdait tout droit sur la maison. Elle me revenait int\u00e9gralement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ma m\u00e8re \u00e9tait plus lucide qu\u2019ils ne l\u2019imaginaient.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Un mois plus tard, ils ont d\u00fb quitter la maison.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Les photos de mariage n\u2019avaient m\u00eame pas encore quitt\u00e9 les cadres qu\u2019ils faisaient d\u00e9j\u00e0 leurs valises dans la cuisine o\u00f9 ils avaient annonc\u00e9 leur bonheur.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paul est revenu une fois, seul.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab J\u2019aimais ta m\u00e8re \u00bb, a-t-il murmur\u00e9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Je l\u2019ai regard\u00e9 longtemps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Tu aimais le confort \u00bb, ai-je r\u00e9pondu. \u00ab Elle, elle t\u2019aimait vraiment. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Il n\u2019a pas protest\u00e9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J\u2019ai r\u00e9cup\u00e9r\u00e9 le collier au mont-de-pi\u00e9t\u00e9. Il pesait lourd dans ma main. Lourd comme la v\u00e9rit\u00e9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

La trahison n\u2019est pas toujours un \u00e9clat brutal. Parfois c\u2019est un chuchotement derri\u00e8re la porte d\u2019une chambre d\u2019h\u00f4pital. Une promesse d\u2019avenir pendant que quelqu\u2019un perd ses cheveux sous la chimioth\u00e9rapie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Je n\u2019ai pas d\u00e9truit leur vie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J\u2019ai simplement allum\u00e9 la lumi\u00e8re.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Et dans cette lumi\u00e8re, il ne restait plus aucune place pour leurs mensonges.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Les murs semblaient retenir son souffle. Le cancer l\u2019avait effac\u00e9e morceau par morceau. Chaque jour emportait une partie d\u2019elle que je ne reverrai \n [...]<\/a>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":26114,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-26113","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fotto"],"yoast_head":"\nL\u2019odeur du parfum de ma m\u00e8re flottait encore dans la maison longtemps apr\u00e8s sa mort. -<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/mybook.am\/?p=26113\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"ru_RU\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"L\u2019odeur du parfum de ma m\u00e8re flottait encore dans la maison longtemps apr\u00e8s sa mort. -\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Les murs semblaient retenir son souffle. 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