Celeste didn't mean to stay up that late.
She sat on her bed, one leg tucked beneath her, staring at the same blurry image for what felt like the tenth time.
The screen glowed against her face. Dominic, younger, standing beside a woman with hair like burnt copper and eyes too bright to forget. The headline was from a blog post seven years ago, buried beneath layers of internet dust.
Engaged.
He had been engaged.
Her stomach twisted. The twist in her stomach was not because he owed her any explanations. They barely knew what they were. But because he'd been so… quiet. So composed.
She had knocked down walls to see who he was. But tonight, she realized Dominic still had doors locked shut, and that Theresa was one of them. She realized she hadn't even seen a percent of the real him.
Picking up her phone, she saw a text from Dominic: "Where are you? It's late, are you alright?"
She saw another that read: "I'm just worried. Text me if you're alright,"
