It was the evening. I heard the well-known sounds of the house: my sons talked quietly in the surrounding rooms, Florence closed the door of her small office where she worked peacefully. On the first floor, in the kitchen, someone had to lay the table. A noise of plates on the table reminded me of all these great evenings spent with my close ones speaking about everything, putting the world to rights and especially listening to my boys. Tonight, I was alone downstairs but I knew they won’t let me in my corner. By the way, my wife was already around here. Her solid footsteps showed she decided something.