TAC… TAC… TAC…

  Audrey jolted awake, certain that someone was pounding on her front door. But as consciousness returned in waves, she realized she was drenched in sweat, her stomach knotted as tightly as on the day she’d defended her PhD in front of a jury of grumpy old professors.

  The sound wasn’t coming from her house.

  It came from her mind — the lingering echo of yet another nightmare she couldn’t remember, except for the crushing anxiety it left behind.

  I’m really not made to sleep alone, she thought, her mind drifting to her husband, Franck, who was currently in Cannes with their daughters.

  They had left two days earlier for the autumn break. Five more days to go. Five long, empty days…

  The house felt wrong without them — too big, too quiet, like a hollow cathedral where only the echo of her own footsteps existed. Audrey needed the laughter of her girls, the warm timbre of Franck’s voice, to make the place feel alive.

  But she hadn’t had a choice. The lab wouldn’t let her take time off.

  The work we’re doing is far too important, Dr. Basun, for us to be without you even for a single day,Professor Duprès had declared with his usual pinched expression.

  Oh, she understood the importance better than anyone. After all, she was the one who had conceived the project, coordinated the teams, secured the funding, and published the papers. Three years of her life dedicated to those IPS2 stem cells.

  And yet, despite her devotion, exhaustion had begun to seep into the cracks. She was terrified of missing her daughters growing up. Zoé and Lucie — her own little stem cells — were five and seven now, stretching toward adulthood at an alarming speed.

  Franck had always supported her, even adjusting his teaching hours to care for the girls when her schedule swallowed her whole. But the night she’d told him she couldn’t join them in Cannes, she had seen something break quietly behind his eyes. Not anger. Not resentment.

  Just sadness.

  And it had shattered her.

  She had promised herself then: before the end of the year, she would step back. For real this time.

  No more half-measures.

  Mom, you’ll call us every day? Zoé had asked that morning.

  Of course, sweetheart. Every day.

  I love you, mommy, Lucie had whispered, hugging her tight.

  I love you too, both of you. For life, no matter what happens, Audrey had replied, using their special bedtime phrase — their little ritual.

  Now, alone in her bedroom, Audrey sighed, pushed aside the thoughts and sat up. She slid her feet into slippers and walked to the adjoining bathroom. The cold water on her face helped clear her head, and when she looked into the mirror she heard Franck’s favorite joke echo sweetly in her mind:

  You know you’re getting older when your morning face doesn’t change all day.

  “Well, I don’t look that bad,” she murmured, examining the faint crow’s-feet at the corners of her hazel eyes. Her golden-blonde hair still caught the light the way it always had — except for one or two rebellious strands of white she plucked the moment she found them. She looked younger than her thirty-five years, her athletic build sculpted from hours at the climbing gym.

  “Okay, Snow White,” she told her reflection. “Enough admiring. We’ve got work to do.”

  When she stepped back into the bedroom, her foot struck something hard. She stumbled and caught herself against the wall.

  “Ow! Seriously?”

  She glanced down — and froze.

  A piece of wood lay on the floor. A branch, roughly a meter long, its end splintered as if torn straight from a tree.

  “What the…?” She picked it up, turning it in her hands. Coarse. Heavy. Warm?

  Its texture was oddly alive beneath her fingers.

  “Nala, you are in so much trouble,” she muttered automatically — though a part of her was relieved she wasn’t alone in the house. Her golden retriever’s presence was comforting, especially at night.

  Franck had insisted the dog stay with her during the family trip.

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  “You know Nala doesn’t get along with your parents’ neighbor’s cat,” he had reminded their daughters. “And mommy won’t feel so alone with her around.”

  The girls had reluctantly agreed.

  Audrey headed downstairs, branch in hand. Nala was curled up in her basket in the living room but sprang up the moment she saw her, tail thumping wildly.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Audrey scolded with a smile. “Did you sneak this into my room while I was sleeping?”

  At the sight of the stick, Nala wagged even harder and grabbed the end of it in her mouth, pulling insistently.

  “Yes, yes, I know you want to play. Later, okay? Let me at least have breakfast.”

  Nala trotted back to her basket and gnawed happily.

  “But how did you even get this inside?” Audrey continued, talking to the dog as if she were answering. “I didn’t see you bring it last night before I locked up.”

  Nala tilted her head in that universal canine gesture of innocent incomprehension.

  “You probably dragged it in earlier and hid it somewhere in the house. Then dropped it in my room while I was asleep, huh?”

  The dog wagged again. Audrey took that as confirmation.

  She opened the sliding glass door so Nala could go outside, though the dog remained busy chewing. The sunlight was so bright she had to squint. And they said it would rain today…

  A coffee and a slice of toast later, Audrey dressed and headed back toward the garden. Nala had finally gone out — stick and all.

  Audrey locked the front door and stepped outside. She had barely taken two steps toward her old RAV-4 when Nala came barreling across the lawn, stopping dead at her feet and dropping the branch on her shoes.

  “Nala, I know I promised we’d play, but I have to go. I’m going to be late.”

  The dog answered by standing on her hind legs and smearing dirt across Audrey’s jeans.

  “Oh, come on!” Audrey laughed despite herself.

  When the dog once again dropped the stick in front of her, Audrey surrendered.

  “All right, all right. Five minutes. But that’s it.”

  She walked to the center of the yard, lush and green beneath the morning sun.

  “Go get it!” she shouted, throwing the branch as far as she could. Nala sprinted after it.

  This place could use a few more trees, Audrey thought, glancing around.

  When she and Franck had bought the old house, tucked near the Sainte-Baume mountains in a small Proven?al village called Olliol, the charm of the countryside had enchanted them. But the yard had only one tree — an old almond tree at the far edge of the lawn. Majestic, yes, but terribly lonely.

  They had promised to plant more. They never found the time.

  Nala returned at full speed and dropped the branch once more at Audrey’s feet. Audrey picked it up — but paused.

  This wasn’t a normal branch.

  The wood’s dark-gray tone, its warmth, the cluster of small rootlike tendrils at one end…

  “Roots,” she whispered.

  A strange idea — instinctive, irrational — bloomed inside her.

  “You want a new tree too, huh?” she said softly to Nala.

  Instead of throwing it again, Audrey crouched and dug into the soft earth with her hands. It didn’t take long to open a small hole. She placed the branch upright, the rootlike end buried in the dirt, and covered it with soil.

  She stood and admired her handiwork.

  “Cute, right? A little bonsai.”

  It looked more like a reed than a tree, but she didn’t care. The symbol mattered: when Franck would return, he’d see it and remember their promise.

  Audrey patted Nala one last time.

  “I won’t be home until tonight. Be good. And don’t bark at Mrs. Raquena when she comes with your food, okay?”

  Nala gave a soft whine and wagged her tail like a banner.

  “Good girl.”

  Audrey slid into her car, closed the gate behind her, and drove off down the dirt road.

  Nala watched the car disappear, then, realizing there would be no more games today, stretched out on the sun-warmed terrace.