Chapter 14
Six months passed before Celeste allowed Preston to hug her.
I was there by accident.
Or maybe she wanted me there because witnesses made old patterns feel safer.
They sat in the Marconi garden.
Preston had been reading her letters one year at a time.
Not bingeing through nineteen years and calling that understanding.
Celeste made him stop whenever he became overwhelmed.
That was another lesson.
Pain did not become more honest just because someone consumed it quickly.
He brought one letter with him.
Age seventeen.
The year he reported her appearance in the garden.
Celeste had written:
I saw you tonight. You looked terrified. I’m sorry my presence frightened you more than my absence.
Preston could barely read the sentence aloud.
“I betrayed you.”
Celeste nodded.
“Yes.”
He cried.
“I was seventeen.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“You’re not going to tell me it wasn’t my fault?”
“No.”
Then she touched his face.
“You were a child trained by a dangerous man.”
He closed his eyes.
“That matters too.”
Both truths.
Finally.
Preston asked if he could hug her.
Celeste thought for a long moment.
Then nodded.
One hug.
Brief.
No miracle.
No complete healing.
When they separated, she looked exhausted.
He looked grateful.
I left them there.
Later, Celeste found me inside.
“You did not need to stay.”
“I know.”
“You always watch exits?”
“Yes.”
She laughed.
“Good Mafia boss.”
I almost smiled.
Then she became serious.
“Don’t let what happened make you afraid of marriage.”
I looked at her.
“That seems like optimistic advice from you.”
“It isn’t.”
She glanced toward Preston outside.
“I was not wrong to marry. I was wrong to think love required me to disappear inside it.”
That distinction mattered.
I thought about my ring.
Still unworn.
Maybe always.
May you like
Maybe not.
For the first time, that uncertainty felt peaceful instead of empty.
