“Nobody is getting married illegally. Your father already explained this.”
Clara looked at him.
“He said fifteen was the age of consent.”
Laurent nodded.
“It is.”
“For sex,” Clara said.
Nobody spoke.
Laurent’s expression changed.
Clara had never used the word so directly in front of him before.
“The woman at the town hall explained it,” she continued. “That’s not the marriage age.”
“I know what the law says.”
“Then why did you tell me fifteen?”
“I was explaining that the law doesn’t treat you like a little child.”
“That isn’t what you said.”
“Don’t twist my words.”
Clara felt her hands begin to shake.
She put them under the table.
Laurent continued.
“We planned a family ceremony in July. Civil marriage can happen later.”
Clara looked at her mother.
“You already planned it?”
Isabelle hesitated.
Only for a second.
That second answered the question.
“How many people?”
“Clara—”
“How many?”
“About forty.”
Clara stared at her.
“Forty people?”
“Mostly family.”
“You invited forty people to my wedding without asking me?”
“It isn’t a wedding.”
“What is it?”
“An engagement.”
“You just called it a ceremony.”
“Because that’s what it is.”
Laurent interrupted.
“Enough.”
Clara stood.
“No.”
That surprised all three of them.
She was usually the person who ended arguments by going quiet.
This time she stayed.
“Did Mathieu know?”
Her parents said nothing.
Clara looked from one to the other.
“Did Mathieu know?”
Laurent answered.
“His parents know.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“Mathieu knows there have been discussions.”
“So everybody knows except me.”
“You knew.”
“No. I knew you kept inviting him to lunch.”
Isabelle looked close to tears.
“We thought you understood.”
Clara shook her head.
“You thought if you kept talking around it long enough, eventually I’d be too embarrassed to say no.”
“That is not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
Laurent pushed the folder toward her.
“You’re upset. Go upstairs.”
Clara didn’t move.
“I want my passport.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine.”
“It’s in the safe.”
“I want it.”
“Why?”
“Because apparently I’m travelling somewhere in July.”
Isabelle said quickly:
“It’s only a family trip.”
“To where?”
Neither answered immediately.
Clara felt her stomach tighten again.
“Where?”
Laurent finally named a town in southern Europe where Mathieu’s extended family had rented a large house for the summer.
Clara stared at him.
“So that’s where the ceremony is.”
“Clara—”
“I want my passport.”
Laurent shook his head.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Give me my passport.”
“You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“Then you don’t need it.”
That was the moment the argument changed.
Until then, Clara had been confused.
Now she became frightened.
Not because her father had threatened her.
He had not.
Not because anyone had touched her.
Nobody had.
But because an ordinary document she had never thought about suddenly represented whether she could control what happened next.
“I want my passport,” she repeated.
Laurent’s voice became firmer.
“Tomorrow.”
“Now.”
“Stop.”
“No.”
Isabelle said, “Clara, please.”
Clara took out her phone.
Laurent looked at it.
“Who are you calling?”
“The town hall.”
“At eight thirty at night?”
“Then my teacher.”
“For what?”
“This.”
Laurent held out his hand.
“Give me the phone.”
Clara stepped backward.
“No.”
“I pay for that phone.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
She moved toward the hallway.
Laurent stepped in front of her.
Not touching her.
Just standing there.
“Give me the phone and go calm down.”
Clara stared at him.
Then at the doorway behind him.
“Move.”
“Stop behaving like I’m your enemy.”
“Then move.”
For several seconds, neither did.
Isabelle finally said:
“Laurent.”
He looked at her.
“Move.”
Something in her voice was different.
Laurent stepped aside.
Clara went upstairs and locked her bedroom door.
At 8:47 p.m., she sent an email to her school counsellor.
It contained only nine words.
I think my parents are arranging my marriage. I’m seventeen.
The next morning, Clara was asked to speak privately with Madame Fischer, the school’s student welfare adviser.
Clara almost refused.
Then she saw Sophie, the municipal employee from the previous afternoon, sitting in the office.
The town hall had already flagged the conversation as a possible safeguarding concern and sought guidance through the appropriate local channels.
Nobody told Clara that her parents were criminals.
Nobody told her she had to leave home.
Nobody told her she could never speak to Mathieu again.
Instead, they asked questions.
Had anyone threatened her?
No.
Had anyone physically harmed her?
No.
Did she have access to her identification documents?
Not currently.
Had tickets been purchased?
She didn’t know.
Did she want the ceremony?
No.
Did she want to marry Mathieu?
No.
That answer came faster this time.
