Gabriel could never be happy without Émilie—very well, he should have allowed himself to be unhappy, and permitted her son to be happier than he: Adrien is not happy with Émilie, though he does not (as she does, as his father does) recall that she was ever absent, ever ill, that Nathalie was once present, that Émilie ever didn't wear earrings or that a girl in vibrant red ever did, that the baker on the corner ever had a daughter.

(At least Nathalie chose to erase herself from the narrative for love of another—to erase herself.)

What was created can be unmade and what was destroyed can be reconstructed, what never was can briefly be—a glimpse of Émilie's face overwriting Ladybug's is enough for her husband to hesitate half a heartbeat, long enough to score a bleeding line over the girl's breast instead of driving the Butterfly blade through her heart and tearing it out from between her ribs, long enough for Adrien to rip the sword from Gabriel's grasp and return the blow—and if neither ever learns why this levels the mansion, why they must pluck their own jewelry from Émilie's corpse as well as the two brooches they have been seeking—well, Adrien did always prefer getting his hands dirty: learning baking from his father-in-law will please him.