I froze. The kitchen around me became completely silent.
“Excuse me,” I managed to say by squeezing the phone harder. “You said who? »
“Clara,” repeated the receptionist, whose tone now betrayed a slight confusion. “She’s sitting right here in the waiting room. »
I trembled, convinced that it was necessarily a kind of cruel farce.
“Will you talk to him? “Ask the receptionist.
I had a dry mouth. “Yes. »
There was a rustle on the other end of the line, and then a familiar voice said:
“Sarah? Please come and get me. »
I had goosebumps.
That was Clara’s voice.
I asked for the address of the clinic and drove there without even remembering the ride.
When I finally opened the door of the waiting room, I stopped clean.
Part 2 — My sister’s phone should never have ringed
I stayed a few seconds outside the door of the dental office without daring to enter.
Ten years.
It had been exactly ten years since my twin sister, Clara, had died in a car accident.
Ten years I learned to live with his absence.
Ten years that I still kept, at the bottom of a drawer, an old photo of the two of us taken a few weeks before his death.
And now a dental office had just called me to tell me that a woman resembling Clara had left her phone at their house.
I had thought of a mistake at first.
Then the secretary had said a sentence that had frozen me:
“Madam, she gave us your name as the person to contact. »
I finally pushed the door.
The receptionist looked up at me.
His face changed immediately.
“Oh…”
She got up.
