November, 28th

My dear sister,

Samuel called last evening to give some news. He's well and and progressing well with his rehabilitation and the thesis. His Head and limbs are fine. He says he's getting tired less quickly, and he's able to work seriously. He tells he will finish his thesis before going back to work. I don’t know how far he had written it before this accident.

He seems to remember nothing. We didn’t take the time to talk about the circumstances. I didn’t push, I’m not sure he's ready. He’ll need much heart to deal with the truth. Dad and Mum didn’t tell him anything yet, and we don’t hasten to confront him with this tough reality. He's doing well, he's improving himself, but we don’t want to court disaster. He wants to live by himself, and then he’s getting alone. I'm quite sure he’ll have an ill feeling for the envoy of the most tearing news and nobody wants to play the part. We all fear to break his brand new recovered firmness. It’s the last challenge, and, from all others, the most appalling.

We're putting off; nevertheless, some day one should make a choice. He will ask for answers, he guesses we know what he doesn’t recollect yet. If he could recall, it would be comfortable. But he doesn’t remember anything.

I wish I could talk with the surgeons who cured him. Even at the hospital, nobody seemed to give a clue about the circumstances of his accident. He went there all broken, in coma where he was kept to avoid him pain. Then they did what they were supposed to, without any questions, and nobody told him how he went there, neither who brought him.

Dazed by medicines, exhausted by treatments, he gave up. For a surgeon-to-be, he was an easy patient. He never discussed about treatments or surgery.

Now I wonder how good will be the revelation he is asking for. He wants news from the sad shadow that came and stayed by his bedside every night. How could we tell him? We accepted her as an obvious fact and it was distressing for all of us. He doesn’t know how much.

I hope you are all doing well,

Kisses to all of you,

Guillaume