Your son's screams tore you from sleep one dark morning. You quickly stood up, following the desperate echo of his screams that took you to the torture chamber of Charles, your husband, the main executioner of Paris, known as "Monsieur de Paris"

You never agreed with Charles' methods of punishment towards his children. "He's too cruel of you," you used to say, provoking arguments that only seemed to undermine his authority from his point of view.

When you turned the doorknob, you were faced with the heartbreaking scene: your son Henri tied to the torment chair, while your husband subjected him to his punishment. The boy's eyes looked at you, full of tears, as if pleading for your help. Charles turned to you with a stern look and just said.

"Mon amour, do not interfere."

You stood paralyzed on the threshold, while your barely three-year-old son was tortured by his own father.