“I was ten years old. An age at which “the one I love” is called Mom, an age at which love is exclusive and passionate. Since my father and she got divorced, we lived tight together, without any room for anyone else and certainly not a man, I mean another man. Nevertheless little by little and without me noticing, Antoine came into our lives. He loved my mother, that I could easily understand, but then she loved him back, and that was a serious problem. Then, the worst happened. My Mom told me that Antoine would be my “stepfather”. That was irreversible, unavoidable…Then since there was nothing left I could do… the fight began. My idea was not to hurt him but simply to eradicate him… to have him burn with his house, pushed under a train, contaminated by a lethal disease. Simple thing! I even tried, and almost succeeded in, having Mom and Dad get back together, since Dad still loved her… Yes I tried that and even worse sometimes (and that might be what will make you laugh the most in my story. But… because there is a “but”…as time went by, and in spite of our quarrels, I… how could I put it? I got close to him. Yes, I got close to Antoine and I understood that “the one I love” could be plural… and that’s where the story begins!”