Rafael’s gaze softened as he looked down at Celestine, a tenderness returning that I hadn’t seen in weeks. It was the look of someone who held a fragile glass object in his hands, fully aware of its vulnerability yet determined to protect it with a kind of fierce, unreasonable care. His eyes lingered on her, scanning every subtle twitch, every shiver, every slight falter, as though he could absorb her pain simply by noticing it. “Once she’s recovered, we’ll spend a few weeks there,” he said, his voice soft, deliberate, weighted with conviction. “Clean air, mountains. She deserves it.”
Celestine leaned against his chest, her eyes meeting mine for a brief, fleeting moment, a glance loaded with triumph. A victorious little smile danced across her lips, the kind of smile that belonged to someone who had already claimed more than they were allowed. She looked like a girl who had already marked her territory in the world, confident and untouchable, basking in the quiet power she had carved for herself.
I smiled too, but it was thin, fleeting, a mere shadow of warmth, a quiet mirror to her triumph. I didn’t speak. Words felt useless here. Silence was my armor, my shield. I could hear everything, feel everything, yet remain untouchable by it all.
I turned and walked slowly toward the stairs, each step measured, deliberate, letting the sounds of their voices rise behind me. Laughter, soft and warm, full of care—but unmistakably not for me—washed over me like waves brushing against a shore I could never reach. Their voices lingered, echoing in the hollow spaces of the house, a haunting reminder of everything I had been excluded from, everything I had been denied.
At the top of the stairs, I stepped into my room and closed the door with a gentle, deliberate push, careful not to make it slam. I didn’t lock it; there was no need. No one ever came up here uninvited. This was my sanctuary, the last place that remained untouched by their intrusion.
I lay down on the bed, drawing the blanket over my legs, staring at the ceiling with eyes that refused to see. The faint clinking of cutlery, murmured conversation, and soft laughter floated up from downstairs—fragments of a life I could observe but never inhabit. Rafael’s laughter, the way Celestine coughed delicately into her hand, Victor checking her tea, making sure it was warm enough—all of it built a world around me that I was excluded from, a life I could watch from the edges.
I didn’t cry. I never did. I closed my eyes, letting the quiet wrap around me like a thick, familiar blanket, enveloping me in a cocoon of deliberate isolation.
I was halfway to sleep when the door creaked, a soft, hesitant sound that made me shift slightly. I turned my face to the wall, too tired to care who might be on the other side, too drained to muster curiosity.
Soft footsteps crossed the floor, careful and deliberate, and then the faint, comforting scent of warm milk reached me before her voice did.
“I brought you something,” Celestine said, her tone light, almost sweet, but beneath it, there was a subtle trace of bitterness, a sourness that clung like rot hidden under honey.
I didn’t move. I didn’t acknowledge her presence. I simply lay there, still as a statue.
She stood at the foot of my bed, the glass balanced delicately in her hands like fragile porcelain. “Why did you even come back?” she asked, tilting her head, her words poised as if the answer were obvious—but I wasn’t clever enough to supply it.
I turned toward her slowly, pushing myself upright just slightly, letting the blanket slide off my shoulder. My posture was defensive, careful, a quiet statement of “stay back.” “Yeah?” I said, my voice dry, measured. “Why are you still in my house?”
Her lips twitched in a flicker of amusement, that faint, calculated movement that made me want to grit my teeth. “I’m leaving. Don’t worry. Rafael and Victor are taking me to the hospital later. I just wanted to see you first before I go.”
I didn’t thank her. I didn’t acknowledge her. I simply watched, letting her words float into the room like empty confetti.
She walked closer, her steps muted by the rug beneath her feet, setting the glass on the table beside my bed but lingering, her fingers brushing the rim as though it contained some secret she wasn’t ready to release.
“Is it painful?” she asked, her voice smooth, stretched too tight like silk pulled too far. “Seeing your boyfriend and his brother take care of me like I’m the most fragile, precious thing in the world?”
I didn’t answer.
“I mean, what were you even doing in the hospital?” she continued, her brows arched, catlike, predatory. “Pretending to be sick for a week? Were you disappointed when they didn’t show up? Did you expect them to rush in?”
My eyes felt heavy again. I didn’t want to give her words. I lay back down, pulling the blanket over my shoulder, swallowing everything I might have said.
“I don’t care,” I murmured finally, and I meant it more than she could ever know.
I closed my eyes. Silence stretched on, too long, just long enough for me to think she might actually leave.
Then—a sharp, shattering crash.
I opened my eyes in time to see her collapsed on the floor, curled in on herself, hands trembling, her wrist bleeding. Milk had spilled across the rug, seeping into the fibers and mingling with the red like some grotesque, chaotic painting. Her body shook with low, broken sobs, shoulders rattling as if the core of her being had fractured beyond repair. Best actress. Yeah.
I just stared, frozen, taking it all in.
The noise sent Rafael and Victor sprinting toward the room, urgency in every movement. Rafael was first, followed closely by Victor, both faces storm-dark, eyes wide with alarm, a sharp mixture of fear and anger.
Rafael dropped to his knees beside Celestine without sparing me a glance, lifting her into his arms as though she were made of fragile glass already shattered. He murmured her name over and over, a desperate, almost prayerful repetition, as if the sound of it could stitch together the pieces that had fallen apart.
“Celestine!” His voice cracked, trembled, carried the weight of panic and protection, a plea wrapped in devotion and fear, a sound meant to heal even as it trembled.
