Original subtitles

My mother began work at 17, as a secretary in a garage.

By 26, she had been at Social Security for several years.

Miss Dessal!

- Have you done the Bouthry file? - Yes, sir.

I sniff them out.

She had "capped St Catherine",

a term used at the time for unmarried girls who turned 25.

She lived in a house on Rue de l'Indre with her little sister and her mother.

He's a nasty piece of work.

My parents met in Chateauroux,

in the canteen my mother used.

Everything ok?

My father offered her a coffee.

That evening, my mother was going to a "social"

for local young people.

Stopped dancing?

I'll dance later.

Come on. Isn't your Philippe here?

He's not "my" Philippe.

He doesn't like this kind of thing.

He's a bore if he hates dancing.

He likes it, but not here.

It was late in the evening

when she saw him appear.

Philippe... I thought...

He asked her to dance.

My story is the story of a love

My lament is that of two hearts

A tale like so many others That could be yours

Wherever you may come from

My story is a familiar one

All those in love live it too

AN IMPOSSIBLE LOVE

It's a story of an eternal and ordinary love

Filling days with good and bad

There are moments for embracing

Moments for parting

With evenings of anxiety

And mornings of delight

My story is a familiar one

All those in love live it too

Be it naive or intense

It's the only song in the world That will never end

It's the story of a love

Good evening.

- Philippe, meet Nicole. - I've seen you before.

Yes, indeed. How do you do, Nicole.

- Can I get you both a drink? - Please.

Looks like he's changed his mind about dances.

My father was a translator at the US army base.

His first job after years of studies.

He didn't plan to stay.

Say something in Norwegian.

What does it mean?

"You're stylish."

That's kind.

No, it's true.

Say it in Spanish.

He came from a long line of Parisians.

His forebears were often doctors, liked to travel and loved oysters.

In Chinese.

In Japanese!

Incredible!

Thank you.

- You're welcome, Miss Steiner. - Rachel, please.

Rachel.

I enjoy saying your name.

It suits your first name beautifully.

Really? Why?

Rachel derives from a word for the ewe, gentleness.

And Steiner is a stonecutter.

A blend of softness and hardness.

Or rather firmness.

It suits you.

I didn't know that about my name.

Any other Christian names?

Madeleine and Pauline.

They're not Hebrew names.

No, my father chose Rachel and my mother the others.

Your mother isn't Jewish?

No, she's Catholic and baptized, like me.

What an odd mix.

Are you religious?

Yes.

- Aren't you? - Not at all.

I was, out of habit and education, until I was 12, but then...

Nietzsche changed all that.

You don't know Nietzsche?

I can introduce you.

I'll get you Thus Spoke Zarathustra. You have to read it.

No, Beyond Good and Evil.

I can't choose. I'll give you both.

See you tomorrow.

Bye.

They soon saw each other every day.

She discovered a world of intimacy, constant words, questions, answers

unfamiliar ideas...

This one is...

He spoke of her like a lover and an expert,

with the same passion as for his favourite writer.

There are others too.

You'll read it first?

- I promise - Let me know.

My father would rent a car for weekends away.

Those books can change your view of the world and life.

Do you like being a woman?

- Yes. - Why?

- Because I'm yours. - Is that all?

- I like what you do to me. - Again.

I like what you do to me.

Your skin is like silk.

You have a true power.

I'm serious.

You're like Isolde.

You give your lover a potion too.

Don't laugh, Rachel, it's true.

You are a very pretty woman.

You have a very beautiful body.

You could have very handsome men.

It's you I want to charm.

I find you handsome.

You're kind.

Have you had many lovers before me?

No, only one.

I was engaged once.

He was respectful of my innocence.

Very, very respectful.

- Not like me, you mean? - No, not like you.

I was engaged to Charlie two years.

Well, I thank Charlie.

I thank him for failing to marry you.

Or we'd never have met.

It must be pretty late.

You don't say "pretty" late.

I know, it's "rather" late.

Your sister says "kind of".

Have you noticed? "Kind of".

It can handicap her socially.

Perfect. Get down, I'll add a few pins.

You'll be next at the altar.

Philippe loves you.

I've seen how he looks at you.

And he's so elegant.

He's special.

Philippe's stylish, isn't he?

He's a sloppy dresser, but he speaks nicely.

My Aunt Gaby was nearly 18, engaged to an apprentice joiner.

They were about to marry.

Gaby had invited my father,

but my mother hadn't told him.

The songs, the garter, the conga line...

She preferred to go alone.

My father spoke a lot about Paris and his love for the city.

He couldn't imagine life elsewhere.

Hello, Gaby.

Hello, Philippe. How are you?

- Very well. - That's the lot.

See you later.

With him, she had conversations she'd never had with anyone.

We rarely see my father.

He comes once or twice a year for just a day or two.

He left when I was four and came back when I was 17.

He was a stranger.

He's still a stranger.

We couldn't make up the lost years.

Did he have another woman?

No. Well, I don't think so.

He went back to Alexandria in '35 for his business.

Mum and I were supposed to join him.

With the war, as he's Jewish, he was safer there.

That's all.

He didn't see me grow up.

Business... Is your father rich?

He has bank accounts in Israel, Italy

and Switzerland,

but without much on them.

Really, Rachel

Empty accounts in three countries?

- I couldn't care less. - You're wrong.

He'll leave you something.

But he has no money.

You said you didn't know.

Like all Jews, he only pretends not to have any.

I've never seen you in trousers.

You don't like them?

I do, very much.

Wear them more often.

A woman rarely remains that feminine in trousers.

I could never wear these to work.

Really? Why not?

We can't wear trousers to work.

- You're joking. - Not at all.

When a colleague wore a pair,

the boss sent her home to change.

I told the boss I didn't find it normal.

- You really did that? - Yes.

It's unimportant for me.

After all, he took plenty of liberties.

He tried to make me his mistress. As I refused, he gave me hell

and moved me to another department.

Something's happening to us.

I think so, yes.

- Philippe? - Yes.

Do you love me?

I love you, Rachel.

There are three kinds of love.

There's marital love, the one everyone wants. Then...

there's passion. And then...

what I call the inevitable encounter.

Know what this is?

Yes, it's passion.

No, an inevitable encounter.

So, what's the difference?

Passion disturbs the social order.

The inevitable encounter is outside social order.

It doesn't fit in a reasonable life.

He had entered her life.

She couldn't see him leaving it.

He met her from work every day.

They'd go to the room he rented on Rue Grande.

Rachel, I'd like to tell you something.

Something I've never told anyone.

Can you keep a secret?

Of course. You can tell me anything.

I've been in prison.

What for? What did you do?

I should have done my national service in Algeria,

but some high-placed friends stepped in for me

and I was posted to Germany.

I was going back to barracks one night,

annoyed after a girl stood me up.

I was driving fast and...

I hit a pedestrian.

He bounced off my hood and I didn't stop.

They found him dead.

Were you in prison long?

18 months.

No one helped me. It was horrible.

Luckily, my father wrote every day.

He didn't judge me.

Don't tell anyone, promise?

Know what they say at work?

"Miss Steiner is a closed door."

Try to hold your breath.

- Nearly. - Yes, nearly.

Could you live your whole life here?

I don't know yet.

Do you want to marry?

- I don't know. And you? - Me? No.

Certainly not.

I want to do as I want.

- And you couldn't, being married? - Certainly not.

As you couldn't have mistresses?

Yes, but not only that.

With someone like you, I couldn't do as I wanted.

Why do you say that?

You're demanding, Rachel.

You like to make your presence felt,

including sexually.

If you came to Paris, we'd see each other often.

- And my job? - You can work in Paris.

I'd need to ask for a transfer.

I'd help you find a place to live.

If you want to marry as it's important for a woman,

I'd have no objections.

- Another man, you mean? - It's not possible with me.

- Wouldn't you be jealous? - No.

Rachel, this is so funny. Come on.

There.

Look at my face!

That spring. my father's employer

terminated his contract as a translator on April 30th.

He bought a train ticket for May 2nd, at 2:30 pm

Look!

It's incredible.

I've never seen this.

She asked for the morning of May 2nd off to have all of May 1st

and a morning, to share with him before he left.

From the beginning, my father ejaculated on her belly as agreed.

That day,

he asked if he could shoot inside her.

She said yes.

Think about coming to Paris.

Yes. I'll let you know.

I had a very good day yesterday.

Rachel,

I was glad to have your letter.

I was happy to smell your scent

even though I miss it on your skin.

I'd like your long, soothing hand to slip into mine now and then.

It would do me good.

Thank you for the photo. I like us in it.

With my tenderest thoughts, Philippe.

She answered him.

He wrote back right away.

She wrote to him a few weeks later.

They needed to see each other.

She was pregnant.

She had a quick reply.

He couldn't come to Chateauroux that summer.

He needed a holiday. He was off to Italy.

He sent two postcards.

One from Milan, the other from Rome, talking of the city's wonders,

but never of her condition.

My father wrote later that summer.

He asked my mother to join him.

Hello, Philippe.

You're gorgeous.

It's so beautiful.

Wait till you see Villefranche-sur-Mer.

There's a chapel...

Shit!

Thank you.

- It's lovely. - Just costume jewellery,

but it's the thought that counts.

And it's a tender thought.

Goodbye.

- Here? - Yes, this is good.

- Finished? - No.

Like it?

Yes, it's good.

You're pregnant,

but it changes nothing.

We agreed to make this baby.

Didn't we?

We agreed?

Of course.

I've always said I won't marry you.

I've always been frank.

Haven't I?

Of course, if you'd been rich,

I'd have considered it.

I was born on February 3rd, 1959, in Chateauroux.

My birth certificate read, "Chantal Steiner,

father unknown."

You've had a lovely little girl.

Chantal...

She wrote to my father. asking him to come to see me.

He replied by telegram,

"Sorry, materially impossible to come today."

He came five months later.

Let's go and see Daddy.

Look...

She's very robust.

- She's well fed. - Beautiful, isn't she?

She always gurgles.

Mum has never seen such a happy baby.

It's true. You're cute. Chantal dear.

Do you want to hold her?

I'll try.

No, I can't do it.

Your mother looks poorly.

- Her old breathing problems. - Yes.

Yes, she soon tires.

You're the picture of health though.

I'd like you to recognize Chantal.

That's all I'll ask.

I'm not interested in money.

Look...

- I'll think it over and let you know. - All right.

My father only stayed one day.

After a few weeks, having had no news,

my mother wrote again.

Her letter was returned., marked "unknown at this address".

She took a train to Paris and went to the Michelin head office.

Have a seat.

It was the only address she knew.

Have a seat, miss, please.

Thank you for seeing me.

What can I do for you?

I'm Rachel Steiner.

Your son Philippe and I have a young baby.

- Little Chantal. - Yes, I know.

He told me he didn't feel responsible.

He came to see her though.

That's very good of him.

I'm here because I have no address to send news of his daughter.

I understand,

but I can't give you his address without his agreement.

I don't want to bother him, only write to him.

In that case,

could you please give him this letter when you see him.

I'll do that.

Count on me.

My son may display the fickleness of youth,

but, as you know, miss, it takes two to make a child.

I realize it's hard for you.

I'm fine, my daughter's fine.

I'd just like her to know her father.

A few weeks later. she had a short letter.

Your tiny feet...

My father was living in Strasbourg and gave her his new address.

- There! - Me too, uncle!

Me too, uncle.

- Me too, uncle. - You too?

Ready, Chantal.

Here we go!

Careful, it's slippery.

I think I saw one there.

Despite the passing years.

my mother hoped he'd change.

She hated the words "father unknown"

on my birth certificate.

Well?

It got away!

A little smile now. Come on, smile

A nice smile, girls.

Show the fish and smile.

She still hoped my father would recognize me.

She wrote to him regularly for that reason.

Her letters had a second goal:

to see him again.

Hello, Rachel.

Hello, Philippe.

Come and meet someone.

Come on sweetie.

This is your daddy.

Come on, sweetie.

It's your daddy.

Yes, it's your daddy.

Hello, Chantal dear.

Hello.

When I was four,

we holidayed in a small hotel in Gerardmer in the Vosges.

My father came for a day.

We took out a pedalo. I was happy.

I called him 'Daddy".

A street photographer took a photo.

The memory of it has faded.

But the photo was copied.

- Let's try to meet more often. - I'll try.

I have a lot of work.

And my life takes up my time.

- Goodbye, Chantal. - Goodbye.

My mother had a short letter from my father.

His mother had killed herself.

She had jumped from the fourth floor.

The family had finished lunch. She refused to take a walk with them.

They were crossing the yard when the body landed at their feet.

She wrote a kind letter.

My mother had no regrets.

She had known great passion.

And now I was there.

- I win - Drat!

Poor dear, that's life. Look what I've taken.

- You're not hungry. - No.

"Delphine and Marinette led the cows out of the shed

to take them to graze in the meadows."

"Worry not, dear parents."

Let Grandma rest, she's very tired.

- We only just started. - Please...

Come on.

It's too hard...

It'll be all right.

If we're together, it'll be all right.

Their mothers' deaths the same year brought them closer.

Their correspondence resumed.

Near the end of the year, she had one that concluded,

"I want to see you both.

I really want to."

It haunted her.

"I want to see you both.

I really want to."

He wrote that for a reason.

"I want to see you both.

I really want to."

That 'both" was not innocuous.

Time had passed.

Things were changing.

He had lost his mother. He was more mature.

She received a second letter.

He announced his arrival.

Won't seeing him again hurt you?

No, I'm beyond that now.

And it's for Chantal.

So he recognizes her.

Chantal, it's your dad.

Why do you have to sell this place?

It's getting run-down.

It needs too much work.

I'd like a real bathroom now Chantal's older.

I've asked for the Cit� St Jean. I think it will work.

What's that?

It's a new housing complex,

just outside the town, near the countryside.

We won't have a garden there.

No, dear, but we don't always have what we want in life.

Your mum's right. Listen to her.

Rachel, I have something to tell you.

Yes?

I got married.

She's pregnant. We had to decide fast.

You know my views on marriage.

But her father was...

very persuasive.

She's very young.

German, from Hamburg.

Her father's a doctor. They're rather rich.

A cultured and pleasant family.

They love music.

Like Germans of a certain standing.

It's true that her father was very insistent.

But, deep down...

I'm very happy.

Especially to marry a German.

Why?

Because only German women, like Japanese ones,

love to take care of a man.

So many of their men died during the war.

Now German women love to pamper them.

It's not unpleasant.

One day, you'll wonder how you had such feelings for me.

And that will be a sad day.

Tonight you'll sleep in Mum's room.

As soon as you wake tomorrow, you leave.

- I don't want to see you again. - It changes nothing.

Nothing at all. It's different with my wife.

It's...

much less tender.

With you, it's...

different.

It's special.

We've always been special, haven't we?

Rachel...

It changes nothing.

Come on.

Just leave now.

Leave!

- Goodbye, Chantal. - Goodbye, Dad

Goodbye, Rachel.

Take care.

Mum...

Mum, are you ok?

Mum, why are you crying?

Rachel, what's wrong?

- It's horrible. - What happened?

- Gaby, if only you knew... - Come in.

Life is too hard, Gaby. It's too hard.

He's married.

Brigitte!

Your cousin's here.

Go and play outside a bit.

We'll look after your mum.

See, it's just like sand.

It's nice and soft.

We could sell it.

We could be traders in desert sand.

We'll sell it for a lot of money and we'll be rich!

Yes, we'll be really rich.

I'll go and get lots more.

- Lots and lots! - Lots!

This was the first true break in contact.

He had opened her to the world

and she had feelings for him that she had never felt before.

He had left.

We can be happy here, sweetie.

Luckily, we don't live outside.

- We don't care about the surroundings. - No, we don't care.

It's good, but you forgot the little loop on the "O".

And now it isn't an "O", but a zero. It's different.

You see?

A psychiatric hospital had just opened in Gireugne, near Ch�teauroux.

A revolutionary institution that broke with traditional asylums.

There were no bars on the windows, no special clothes

and the word "mad" was banned.

The job of the director's secretary was vacant.

My mother applied for it.

Our psychiatrist, Dr. Baqueni.

She was hired.

Our psychologist

and our meeting room.

Speech is very important here.

Hello, everyone.

Suzanne, our auxiliary.

Her work interested her. She met psychiatrists, psychologists.

psychoanalysts...

She had conversations with them. She learned things.

Childhood was the key moment.

That's very pretty.

That sun's beautiful. It's huge.

Is this you, here?

No, it's just any little girl.

And here?

That's the daddy.

The girl's daddy or any daddy?

The little girl's.

I'm very happy. It went well.

- You had to draw a family? - Yes.

She showed me your drawing.

It's good. You drew the father, that's good.

Yes, I had to draw a family.

Yes, you drew a little girl,

you drew the father and the mother too.

You drew what they call a balanced family.

Ok, you drew a tiny father.

He's little, but he exists.

I don't remember him, but I remember that dress.

You loved that one.

You didn't want your cousin to have it when you grew out of it.

Look at this.

I have others in here.

Here we are.

You can see your dad in this one.

It was on holiday in Nice.

Where am I?

You were still in my tummy.

Is there a photo of you on that holiday?

Look, here I am.

It's obvious you're pregnant.

No, I was only three months gone. You couldn't tell.

Well, I can see it.

It was a lovely holiday.

We ate seafood.

He bought me my seahorse brooch.

- With the shiny, green eyes? - Yes, that one.

- He bought you presents? - Yes.

We were very much in love.

You were really wanted.

By your dad too.

So why didn't he stay with us?

Not all mums live with dads, you know.

My sweetie.

- You're beautiful. Give me your bag. - Bye, girls!

So, how was it?

Beautiful. Venice is beautiful.

It cost a lot, but it was worth it.

You couldn't miss out on a class trip.

If I go back, will you come too?

We'll see.

- I don't speak Italian. - All the shopkeepers speak French.

It's a fantastic city.

You'll love it, you must see it.

A city of floating palaces.

Nothing like Chateauroux then.

I'll leave this town.

You know, maybe you never will.

Yes, I'll leave, Mum, you'll see.

I'll take you too.

We'll go to New York together.

- We'll tour the world. - All right.

I promise you.

- Beautiful. - Like it?

Very much.

These two as well.

Hold on...

- Try it on. - It's very soft.

Yes.

It suits you.

It's a nice match.

- The blue could be pretty too. - Let me see.

The Gireugne clinic. How can I help you?

Rachel?

I have to tell you something quick.

What is it, Nicole?

Your girl's father called us at Social Security.

He was looking for you.

I told him you were at Gireugne now.

He said he'd call you.

He's calling right away, so I wanted to warn you.

Hello, Rachel. It's Philippe.

How are you?

Very well. And how are you?

Very well. How are things? Not too tough at the hospital?

No, on the contrary. It's all going well.

How long have you...

I didn't know...

I haven't been committed, Philippe.

I work here.

I misunderstood.

Yes, you misunderstood. I've been here a few years now.

I'm the director's secretary. I like it.

She hadn't heard my father's voice for seven years.

since that morning when she said, "Leave now."

Her anger had died down since then.

She barely thought about him.

Oh, I've seen quite a few changes.

I moved house,

I passed my driving test at the first try.

Wonderful. I'm not surprised.

You sound very happy.

Yes, if you like...

I am fairly happy.

I often think of you.

- Who wants another? - Me, Auntie, they're delicious.

- Me too. - Don't burn yourself.

Don't make such a mess!

- Look what you've done. - You did it.

Here, have a whole one.

You're animals.

I wish I'd gone to Paris.

You have all your life to go to Paris.

Mum takes me everywhere.

We always holiday together.

She's not really on a holiday.

Just a weekend.

She's seeing your dad.

Really? So why didn't she take me.

You'll have to ask her.

That's grown-up business.

You ate them all.

Can't I have a few?

Don't take the lot.

Come on...

Don't sulk.

How's it going?

A present from your dad.

- What is it? - No idea.

Hold on...

Now let's see...

Here, see... This is Brazil.

Your dad said, "Show her Brazil." He insisted.

Why Brazil?

I don't know.

Maybe because it's big.

But Russia is bigger.

I don't know, Chantal.

Write to him and ask.

My darling Chantal,

I was happy to get your kind letter.

Your school grades are excellent.

It's even more wonderful that so much interests you.

Learning is one of life's great joys

and I'm impressed you've idealized that.

If you want, I'd like another letter from you

about what you do in class and what games you play.

I'll tell you what I like too, so we'll know each other when we meet.

Why Brazil?

Maybe because it has a bright future,

like you, the globe's recipient.

Dad.

Come in.

Hello.

- Did you have a good journey? - Yes.

- Delighted to see you. - Us too.

Chantal, come on now.

Come on now.

Come on.

It's been so long.

I can't show you Strasbourg, but I'll take you to lunch.

A good sauerkraut at the station brasserie,

or the city's best Italian.

- The Italian's good. - Perfect.

Roman-style calamari. It's delicious.

This is focaccia. Try it.

Looks delicious.

- Can we use our fingers? - Of course.

Come here often?

Yes, only this place does Roman food.

As Rome is my favourite city...

- You've been to Rome? - Tens of times.

- That often? - It's not so far.

Ten hours from Paris.

Flying is faster, but less charming.

The train rocks you to sleep in France

and you wake, already in Italy.

You cross the border in your sleep, like in a dream.

- Rome is the city of 1,000 belfries - I didn't know.

- If you count them there are more - You counted them?

- What did you like about Venice? - Everything.

The gondolas, the canals. St Mark's Square...

I'm not surprised you liked Venice. I'm passionate about Italy.

I try to go twice a year.

He's wonderful.

I didn't know my father was so amazing.

I didn't pick just anyone.

I never spoke to anyone that intelligent before.

What a nerve.

I don't know languages or Rome, but I'm not stupid.

- I resemble him, don't I? - Yes, you do.

The same hair colour,

and the same hands too.

Look, we have the same thumbs.

The very same shape.

We have the same tastes, although we've never lived together.

- An apostle? - They're above it.

That's old age.

The fourth age after childhood, youth and adulthood.

They ring the quarter-hour in turn.

And death the hour.

Congratulations.

She's very intelligent.

I wanted to tell you we may move to Reims next year.

That's good.

I was thinking...

if you recognized Chantal,

I could enrol her under your name.

It would be good, like a new start for her.

You're persistent, Rachel.

I'll think about it.

I was packing when he came to my room.

I enjoyed these few days.

- Me too. - Drive safely.

Bye, Chantal. Enjoy the rest of the holidays.

Can you navigate?

Here.

- Mum. - Yes?

The letter you were expecting.

- Tell me. - Hold on.

I'm accepted.

Top of the list!

Top of the list, Mum! Do you realize?

No, I don't realize.

- I don't realize honey. - 538 candidates.

She wrote to my father.

Now our departure was confirmed,

would he recognize me so she could enrol me at school under my new name?

He accepted.

I'm sorry, Rachel, but...

I won't recognize Chantal. It's a bad idea.

I'm sorry?

But you'd seen your solicitor. It was nearly done.

Chantal isn't part of my family.

I can't impose her on my in-laws.

I'm happy to see you and I will whenever I can,

but it stops at that.

Philippe, you agreed. You wrote to say so.

- I didn't make it up! - I've thought. Don't you?

Of course I do!

Is it fair her birth certificate should read "father unknown"?

When you're her father!

When you can recognize her and came for that!

I'm wary.

- I'm sorry? - You want to get into my family.

This is about Chantal, not me! I understood long ago!

It's Chantal who... Shut up!

Don't shout!

Chantal needs her father to recognize her as his daughter.

That's all.

It's absurd, changing names at 14.

It will only confuse her.

We're changing towns.

We won't tell people our story!

My head aches. Don't shout.

I'm not shouting.

Chantal admires you.

You and she have a lot in common. She'd love to have your name.

What'll you say next time you see her?

What? That you've changed your mind?

Chantal wants to know me, not have my name.

- I'll write to her to explain. - No!

No, you tell her now, in person!

- Tell her! - You're not alone.

It may suit you, but not my family!

Things aren't as simple as you think!

They discussed it all night.

The next day,

they saw the registrar.

"Father unknown" vanished from my birth certificate.

Henceforth, my name was Chantal Arnold.

What do you think?

- Which one? - This one.

Not bad I'd do a bigger "A" but the line under it is elegant.

I'll make less than at Gireogne.

- You can't have it all. - She's modest

I know the name you want.

What is it?

- She wants to be Brigitte Bonnefoy. - You do?

Rubbish, Emilie, stop it.

She's in love.

Stop, it's not funny.

It is a little.

Bonnefoy... Brigitte Bonnefoy.

All right...

Drive safely.

- We'll come back. - When?

I don't know. At Easter?

We moved to Reims over the Christmas break.

My mother had been allocated

an apartment by social housing.

Our first impression was not negative.

We can plant flowers on the balcony.

We can make the place nice.

Right, sweetie?

In late February, my father came to see us in Reims.

He met me from school.

Mum, look, my dad's here.

Hello, Philippe.

Good evening, you finish late.

I'm a department head now.

Another woman did the exam.

She's furious she didn't get my job and now complicates things. It's tiring.

I'm sure you'll manage.

Mum...

Want the full kissy?

I was a loner with few friends.

I dreamt a lot and read a lot too. Like you.

I'd have liked to know you then.

- Want me to help? - No, it's ok.

- I'm off to bed. - All right.

Good night, sweetie.

I want to send you 150 francs a month.

As my share, in a way.

Your share of what?

As a sort of alimony.

For Chantal.

Would that do?

- 150 francs? If you want. - Good.

I'll post it each month.

I also wanted to say

you pleaded Chantal's cause beautifully in Ch�teauroux.

With intelligence and sensitivity.

I'm happy you persuaded me.

Really?

Thank you.

It's a joy getting to know Chantal. She's so thirsty for knowledge.

Yes, she's always been very curious.

I'd like to take more care of her than until now.

I could take her away for weekends or to see exhibitions

or to visit Paris.

- Would you mind? - Of course not.

It would be wonderful. She'd be very proud.

Could you free yourself?

I'll make sure I do.

What is it, sweetie?

What's going on?

What are you doing? What's going on?

What?

Nothing.

It's nothing.

So why are you like this?

It's weird, you sleeping together.

It gets you in this state?

Yes, I know...

It's normal a dad and a mum sleep together

But I'm not used to it.

I'm not really used to it either...

I'm not just a mother. I'm a woman too.

Do you understand that?

Yes.

A little.

Did you have a nice weekend, honey?

I'd love to remember all he says.

I'd have learned so much, living with him.

I'm glad it's going so well.

My father saw me regularly.

He would meet me from school.

He'd bring me back Sunday evening or Monday morning.

My mother stayed alone all weekend.

On getting home. I'd stay in my room until dinner.

Often, we didn't speak at the table.

Or we'd argue.

Why be so hurtful?

But it's true.

Sorry, we're not a family.

We're a family of two. What are we then?

This isn't a family.

You can't make me think we're a family.

I can think otherwise.

- You have every right! - Why is it a problem?

I have a right to say it.

We're a mother and her daughter. That's all.

Two people in a house aren't a family!

Sorry, it's obvious. No need to start crying!

- What's wrong? - What do you mean?

Mrs. Steiner, low blood pressure has a cause.

Get dressed.

How's your appetite?

Normal. I'm not very hungry, but I eat.

How are you sleeping?

Well, I'm tired. It's hard getting to sleep.

When you doze off,

do you sleep through the night?

No, it's irregular.

I wake up now and then.

Do you suffer from insomnia?

Sometimes. Not a lot.

Two or three times a week.

Mrs. Steiner, for me, as a doctor.

you display signs of depression.

No, doctor, I'm not that kind of person.

There's no shame in it. It can happen to anyone.

Is this a particularly difficult time for you?

At work or at home?

Yes. Yes, it's...

It's difficult.

What exactly?

A range of things.

For starters, we moved so...

we lost our circle. A family circle, but that matters.

I have no one...

I have no one to visit or call.

I need to talk sometimes, I think.

Of course.

I've always raised my daughter alone.

It's a source of joy, but...

it's not always easy.

What isn't easy?

She barely knew her father as a child.

Recently, they... he got back in touch with her.

They're getting acquainted and he takes her for weekends away.

It's good, of course.

But it's complicated.

What's complicated?

He's cultured and brings her a lot.

And, personally...

I bring her nothing now.

A few days later, in a local paper,

a small ad caught my mother's eye.

"Antique dealer seeks to form group of friends."

- This is almost your place. - It's my secret garden.

My mother went to some meetings.

It was relaxed group of seven or eight people.

A Flemish woman alone with two daughters.

an insurance employee interested in culture, full of theories.

a chemical engineer working in detergents.

Franck was from Mauritius and was in his thirties.

Beautiful, isn't it?

Let me take your photo.

- The setting's perfect. - I'm too shy.

Come on. Stand here.

All right then.

Look at me.

Thank you.

Been into photography long?

Three years now.

It's just a hobby, but I enjoy it.

I like developing them best.

I have my own lab. I can show you.

Why not. Thank you.

I knew no one here at first.

With R�gis' gatherings,

I'm getting to like Reims.

It was hard for us too.

But it's better now.

Hi there, dear. Did it go well?

Please, have one.

Thank you very much.

Here's what Reims is known for!

The bubbly...

You're doing a great job.

- In high school? - First year.

Let's raise our glasses to Rachel

who has finally dared to receive us at home.

To Rachel.

And to Chantal.

Fun, wasn't it?

Franck's a nice man.

- Franck? - The mixed-race guy.

I like that kind of man.

He's with Amandine, the one in pink.

I didn't mean anything.

I'd be absurd making advances at my age.

But if he was interested, I wouldn't say no.

My father invited me for a week in Strasbourg.

His children, who knew nothing about me, were in Morocco with their mother.

The apartment was empty.

She met me at the station when I got back.

What's wrong?

What is it?

Did something happen?

It was difficult.

What was difficult?

Him. He's difficult.

I know.

He hauled me over the coals

for not putting the milk away after breakfast.

He spoke as if he hated me, yelling at me,

"Don't you know, milk can turn sour?

Don't you know that? Are you an idiot?"

He said horrible things, Mum,

yelling loudly,

so loudly.

You can't imagine.

Oh, I can imagine.

- And there was something else. - What?

After lunch, we were going out for a drive.

I was glad because he kept working.

I was waiting for him every day, so I was happy to go out.

He was on the landing and I followed, closing the door.

He realized that the key was inside.

He started to accuse me, saying you don't close others' doors.

That it was impolite and rude, that it wasn't my home,

but his.

It wasn't your fault! You couldn't know about the keys.

But he said it was my fault.

At someone else's home,

you don't go out first, but second after the owner.

I should have known. It's a matter of education

and politeness. I apologized...

And he said, "Stop crying like a little girl!"

Because I was crying.

How did it end?

He called a locksmith. It cost a fortune.

He said it was my fault. And the day was ruined.

Don't stay so long next time.

Definitely not.

Not anymore.

- Hi, Mum. - Hello. Rachel.

Thanks for the ride home.

- You met in the city? - Sort of.

I'll leave you.

Thanks for driving her. Fancy a coffee?

Why not?

We haven't seen you lately.

That's true.

We saw a lovely photo exhibit.

World landscapes.

It was amazing.

I can tell you where. We could go back together.

Here.

Thank you.

Listen, Chantal wasn't at Florence's last night.

She was at my place.

- What? - She spent the night at mine.

We've been going out together for a while.

I preferred to drive her back. So that you would know.

As you say, I know now.

- What about Amandine? - That's over.

I wouldn't two-time.

I don't know.

I realize I don't know you.

I had a boyfriend at 16 too.

Charlie, I've told you about him.

- I can understand. - Understand what?

I can understand that...

you're in love. That you have a sweetheart.

Franck isn't a sweetheart, Mum, he's a lover.

He's nothing like your Charlie.

A few months later,

Franck called my mother at work, saying,

"We have to meet".

What's wrong?

Chantal doesn't know we're meeting. I called on my own initiative.

She didn't ask me to.

I wanted to talk to you.

What's going on?

She mustn't see her father this weekend.

Why not?

Because...

He's been abusing her for years.

He sodomizes her.

I'm sorry to be so blunt,

but I saw no other way.

Do you understand what I said?

- Am I disturbing you? - Of course not.

What's wrong?

Nothing.

My mother said nothing to me.

That night, she had an infection of the Fallopian tubes.

Her temperature shot up to 41 degrees.

Mum?

She was hospitalized for ten days.

I didn't go to Strasbourg.

I cut all ties with my father.

Chantal,

I always follow your wishes

and I shall respect your decision.

What you told your mum is serious.

It is a knife stabbed into my heart.

I shall not recover easily.

My disappointment is as great as the joy of meeting you.

Getting to know you made me very happy.

But now I feel I was wrong about you.

You may realize one day how you've hurt me.

I wish you a life that conforms to your desires.

Dad.

All five together, nice and close.

Blow them out.

What's wrong, sweetheart?

- Chantal, what's wrong? - What is it, sweetie?

You'll have a beautiful life.

A beautiful life.

You have your life ahead.

Your whole life.

Come on.

Come on now.

Champagne for her 16th birthday.

Here, for your 16th birthday.

Mum...

I love you.

For two months now,

I've been trying to write something like a long letter to you.

And I find it hard.

I often cry.

I don't know what it will be like.

Maybe I'll do nothing with it.

I hope you'll keep loving me.

You must.

You're my mum.

Chantal.

- Here - You too, Alain?

Please.

Where's it from? It looks delicious.

The place C�dric recommended.

They had lovely cakes.

I couldn't resist their babas.

Are you happy here?

It's a change from the bedsit.

We were lucky.

- We've found a cr�che. - I know. That's good.

I'll be a real mess.

Can I have it?

Good job we got sponge cake. She loves it.

It's lovely.

Are you ok? You look peaky.

I guess...

I sleep badly lately.

Mum...

My father's in hospital.

Ok...

You're not asking how I know?

I don't like to hear about him.

But I'm talking to you about him.

His wife called to tell me.

What's wrong?

He has Alzheimer's.

Which is kind of ironic.

His father had the very same thing.

- I didn't know. - He did.

It upset him, seeing his father lose his mind.

The Arnolds, so cultured but nothing remains.

You don't care that he's ill?

I feel something all the same.

No, I really don't care. I'm sorry.

What can I say? Where your father used to be,

it's as if my heart has frozen.

You were thirsty, sweetie.

My little sweetie...

Don't worry. He scares you.

He looks mean, but he's nice.

That cat's sick.

- See a vet. - No.

- It's full of germs - No, she's a cute little thing.

The living room.

Rachel, surely you're not planning to keep it?

I am. Come and see. kitty.

All right.

That was Chantal.

Her father's dead.

- Why didn't you put me on? - She didn't want me to.

- She's in a bad way? - Not great.

- I have to call her. - No, call her later.

She'll say I'm never there for her.

- She needs me. - Rachel, baby...

She didn't want to talk to you.

If you call, it'll last an hour and you'll only cry.

So do it later.

All right?

All right.

It was ten years ago.

I was at the Rodin Museum with my husband.

And, all of a sudden...

we came across Chantal with her father.

Just like that...

On entering a room.

Hello, Rachel.

I hadn't seen him for years but...

apart from a few grey hairs, he was the same.

We all greeted each other normally,

like it was perfectly natural.

Chantal's father didn't seem uncomfortable.

Chantal even cracked a joke.

Then we went our separate ways. It lasted, what,

two minutes.

Goodbye.

Maybe she saw him again to try to have a normal relationship,

but I don't know.

Ask her.

No.

I can't ask her things like that.

She might get angry. She has terrible rages sometimes.

I can't.

You fear your daughter's rages?

Yes.

Stop, Camille.

I'm going to leave C�dric.

What on earth for?

I want something else.

I love C�dric, but I can't carry on.

What do you mean by that?

I don't love him enough. I'll probably love him all my life,

but I'm not in love

and never have been.

Maybe you'll always love him... What do you mean by ''in love"?

- You're not happy together? - But I'm not in love.

I can't help it.

I'm not happy about it.

I wish it were different.

- Could it just be temporary? - No, I don't think so.

If you're sure...

You can never take what I say as the truth.

You always have to play things down.

Why bother? You always contradict me.

It's not that. But C�dric has always supported you.

Will someone else understand you that well?

That's what worries me.

- Can't you think it over? - Stop it!

You can't keep demoralizing me.

I'm 33. Surely I can try to have a life?

I can try at least.

She's my best friend.

Over the following years,

we began to grow apart.

- The one in the last photo? - No, that was Charlotte.

A lead weight hung over our heads.

They all look alike.

You're pretty.

I had stopped calling her 'Mum".

That was the finale.

I'm sorry. I can't.

I can't keep pretending like this.

- We're not pretending. - I am. And it wears me out.

We have nothing to say

and I can't stand it.

I'd like you to leave, please.

Mum...

You wanted a nice dinner with Grandma, but I just can't.

I can't.

Never mind. I understand.

- I'll see you tomorrow. - Yes.

It's all right.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Where will she go?

I don't know. A hotel.

Anywhere. I don't care.

My mother stopped calling.

She feared my reaction.

To give me news without bothering me, she would text me.

Months passed without us speaking.

Are you ok?

It's me, Rachel.

My darling.

It's so good to see you.

You were gone so long.

No, I only went to the library, an hour and a half at most.

Chantal? Is everything ok?

Good evening, Mum. Yes, everything's fine.

I just wanted to say hi.

I'm glad to hear that, sweetie. I was worried for Camille.

She's fine. Why did you think that?

No idea. I'm being silly.

She's at her father's.

It's good to hear you.

I'm happy you called too.

How's Alain doing?

We had his test results yesterday.

They're not great

The treatment for the disease is working.

That side of it is going well.

But he forgets things.

It's like choosing between plague and cholera.

- Are you managing? - What can I say?

I have to.

Do you see people at all?

Gaby came to see me.

With Alain's problems, I admit I feel a bit alone.

We are alone.

Deep down, we're all alone, Mum.

But sometimes we think we aren't.

Then again, Alain is there.

He's still there.

Yes, that's true.

I hadn't seen it that way.

It's kind to say that. I feel better.

What happened next was a surprise.

Old feelings, believed lost for good, began to resurface.

My mother came to Paris.

It was hot.

It was summer.

I hadn't seen her in five years.

That's me and Charlie.

I know realized.

You always said you didn't like Charlie.

But here...

I see a handsome young man

with an incredible smile

who's so beautiful...

- You thought he was ugly? - I didn't expect such beauty.

Charlie's very beautiful.

He was mostly very kind.

Know what I suddenly realize,

on seeing Charlie's photo?

Tell me.

You wanted to meet a bad guy.

You were waiting for my father.

But I wish he'd been my father.

Can I ask you something?

Of course.

Why didn't you see anything?

Yes, I was blind.

Believe me I regret it.

I truly regret it.

Looking back, do you know why?

- I had lost faith in us. - Meaning?

When you got home, you were upset, of course.

I thought it was because of me.

I'd lost faith in our affection.

I was blinded by that.

I thought you were sick of me.

I thought...

you didn't want to see me because you didn't love me anymore.

- You really thought that? - Yes.

You know, Mum,

I think there's a logic in it.

Cast-iron logic.

It isn't a personal, private story.

You were rejected.

It's one huge project of rejection.

Social, planned, deliberate, organized.

Including what he did with me.

I don't quite understand.

You belonged to two different worlds,

strangers to each other.

You were alone, you were poor, you were Jewish.

You were beautiful. Different from others. That's important.

It matters.

The goal was to make you lose.

It's social rejection.

You had to stay apart socially.

But then you couldn't bear the "father unknown" tag.

No, I couldn't., I thought it was unfair, false.

But if I had his name,

there was no separation between your worlds, between you.

You insisted he should officially be my father.

It's the truth.

So my status changed. I was recognized as his daughter.

- You are his daughter. - Except...

That ran against the logic of their side.

So what could he do?

He found something. He ignored the taboo forbidding parents

to have sex with their child.

It didn't concern him.

Not him.

As if he wasn't my father and I wasn't his child.

He was above it all.

Above you, us, social rules.

- You think so? - Yes, I think that's it.

I'm sure of it.

Maybe.

Even so, he did something terrible.

What he did to me was something he was doing to you above all.

To humiliate someone, you shame them.

And what could make you more ashamed

than to become, when you thought you'd made it,

the mother of a girl whose father could do that?

But why did you love him, Mum?

I loved him.

Who knows why people love each other.

That's how it is.

He changed my life. I couldn't live without him.

But when he left, I had to.

We pulled through somehow.

And our lives aren't over.

You're beautiful, Mum, you know.

That's kind.

No, it's true.

A few days later,

my mother emailed me to say she was thinking of me.

She added a quote:

"Of the tortured feelings I felt in that distant time,

nothing remained.

In this world where everything fades and perishes,

one thing falls into ruin and erases itself

leaving even less of a trace than beauty,

and that is sorrow."