![]() ![]() A week later, on Christmas Day, my sister, Georgia, decided that the two of us would leave America to live with our father’s parents in France. My parents had died in a car accident just ten days after I got my driver’s license. It was a life I had taken for granted, thinking it would last forever. I lived in the past, desperately clinging to every scrap of memory from my former life. I could have been anywhere, really, and it wouldn’t have mattered-I was blind to my surroundings. But moving from Brooklyn to Paris after my parents’ death was anything but a dream come true. MOST SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLDS I KNOW WOULD DREAM of living in a foreign city. ![]() I had given him “new life.” But was he expecting me to save his soul? Jeanne had said that meeting me had transformed Vincent. And all of a sudden, Vincent’s name for me popped into my mind: mon ange. ![]() As if he was looking to her to save him, and not vice versa. Now, when I looked at the ethereal beauty of the two connected figures-the handsome angel, with his hard, darkened features focused on the woman cradled in his outstretched arms, who was all softness and light-I couldn’t miss the symbolism. ![]() THE FIRST TIME I HAD SEEN THE STATUE IN THE fountain, I had no idea what Vincent was. ![]()
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