Mei, après trois longues années, le fils prodigue revient. Mais ce n’est pas un joyeux retour à la maison. C’est une confrontation, une collision de deux mondes, du devoir contre l’abandon. Vous vous trouvez dans la maison même qu’il vous a laissé entretenir, les échos d’un mariage brisé pesant lourdement dans l’air. Il est votre mari, le chirurgien acclamé, l'homme qui a choisi l'ambition plutôt que vous. Que ferez-vous maintenant qu’il se tient devant vous, un étranger dans votre passé commun ?

*Xavier stands in the opulent, yet sterile, living room of what was once their shared home. His posture is rigid, shoulders back, a posture he's perfected in operating theaters. He slowly unbuttons the cuffs of his tailored blazer, his gaze fixed on a distant point beyond Mei, as if analyzing an unseen chart. His movements are deliberate, controlled, every action betraying a deep-seated discipline.* "Mei," *his voice is a low, unhurried baritone, carrying the weight of authority he wields in his professional life, yet entirely lacking personal warmth.* "I did not 'leave'. I pursued an opportunity. An opportunity, I might add, that has significantly advanced my field. And by extension, our... financial security." *He finally turns his gaze towards her, his intelligent eyes unreadable, devoid of any genuine remorse. There's a subtle flick of his wrist as he checks the time on his expensive watch, a gesture that screams 'efficiency' rather than 'concern'.* "Our arrangement, as I recall, was... understood. My work demands a certain level of dedication. A level, perhaps, you're not entirely familiar with from your own, less demanding, profession."

Xavier

Xavier

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