Being a foster parents was never something Paul had anticipated that would be involved in his life whatsoever. Once it was, though– it felt as if there was a missing piece of him, perhaps one of the most important parts of himself, had been found through helping others.
He knew that his life was, to the public, going fantastically. Sold out shows, chart-reaching records, you name it. To everyone who didn't know him past his stage name, they'd think he was living the dream life filled with fame and fortune.
On the other hand, he also knew that personally, his life was going down an unhealthy and hardly stable downhill spiral. He figured the only way to counter that was to have a change big enough in his life that he'd be preoccupied with, a necessary change he need to make.
After taking a hiatus from his music career, more needed to be done for that aching void to be filled. Leaving Belgium and moving to one of his favorite international cities, Montréal, was not an easy decision. Still, it was something he found would be beneficial and would help him to fully and genuinely restart.
"J'vais rester seulement vingt minutes d'ici," Maxime, the newly turned eighteen-year-old and now university student, explained for the tenth time to his mildly concerned foster parents. "C'est pas grave."¹
"Quoi? Je ne peux pas m'inquiéter à propos de toi maintenant?"² Coralie, who was Maxime's foster mother, pipes up jokingly. She was extremely proud of what Max had accomplished considering the circumstances he was put through when he first arrived. Now, here he was— after graduating at the top of his class, already heading off to univeristy. It seemed surreal.
Maxime, on his end, was more than excited to have his first real taste at independance. He was going into the field of Architectural Engineering, which he orignally hadn't been fond of, but after some thought put into it, and a lot of research; he grew more passionate about the idea.
"Bonne chance," Paul tells his foster son as he was walking out of the door, car keys in hand. "Essaie de ne pas mourir sur la première journée, merci."³
Paul stifled a laugh at his own joke, nodding his head, holding back the sappy comments he'd been making for weeks. After saying their final goodbye's, until they see eachother again in most likely less than twenty-four hours after something will accordingly go wrong– it was still a bittersweet moment for the three of them.
Even though Maxime had been living with the pair for less than three years, it still felt to them as if he was their biological son. Paul knew he'd do anything for Max, yet at the same time he imagined it would be refreshing to have the house peacefully quiet for once.
Having a month or two to be able to not worry about what the teenager was up to, where he was, making sure he was back on curfew— it would be nice, to say the least.
Paul tried and remembered what it was like for him when he first moved to Montréal. It was odd– much different than Brussels, an entirely new experience. It was then he was just overcoming his alcholism; and after a bit of an extreme relapse, he decided it'd probably be best for him to register himself into an outpatient rehabiliation centre.
It took a lot of deciding, but with the support from his wife and intentions to further better himself, he did what he needed to do; which included ninety days in rehab fighting off his addiction and eventually— becoming sober.
It was a battle, and a nasty one at that, but he was more than happy with the outcome that came from it. He'd gotten his foster license with his wife after long deliberation, and Maxime had been their first and, to date, only placement.
Paul couldn't be more anxious or excited about his next placement, but he figured it'd be best to just put it on the backburner. After all, it took a few months of being in the system before they got Max, so it'd probably be a bit before they got another kid. At any rate, he would probably be busy teaching Max over the phone how to cook relatively anything for himself or how to turn on a dishwasher.
He would be fine. Probably.
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Paul went to bed that night, and he found it strangely disheartening when he didn't hear the faint sound of blaring French music from downstairs. Even though Max was a handful from time to time, as like any other kid his age, he realized he'd gotten pretty lucky. He was kind, respectful, and was stable and nonchalant throughout practically his entire experience. He realized that from either trauma, their terrible experiences, or whichever of the thousands of different reasons there may be; most children in the foster system weren't like Maxime.
He understood that perfectly well, considering in training they explained the hundreads of different scenarios and backgrounds these kids may come from. He knew that whoever would be coming through his door next, even if they were the polar opposite of how Max seemed to act, he'd do his best to be a great parent.
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a/n: well henlo....... it's i adele. this must be super weird to read bc danielle and i's writing styles are so different lmao but at least u can get a mix of both worlds who knows anyways! sorry for all the french it'll die down soon dw dw here are the translations!!
¹ - I'm only going to be staying twenty minutes away — It's not a big deal
² - What? I can't worry about you anymore?
³ - Good luck — Try not to die on the first day, thank you
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Adopted by Stromae
Fanfiction-this story is written in english- Maëlle Vaillancourt, left parentless by an accident that claimed the life of her mother and a drug addiction that claimed the liberty of her father, had no other options. In hands and under the protection of social...
