Page 203 of Fractured Devotion
There are no grand declarations. No apologies left to give. Just gentle understanding.
When I finally stand to leave, she walks me to the door. “Be careful, Celeste,” she says.
“I always am,” I reply.
But this time, there’s no bitterness. No shadows lingering between us.
I step out into the night, feeling lighter than I’ve felt in years.
The past will always be a part of me.
But now, it no longer owns me.
And for the first time, the future feels like mine to shape.
I pause just outside her gate, the night air crisp against my skin.
Inside the house, I can see Irene through the window, watching me from the threshold, her face shadowed but no longer cold. We don’t wave. We don’t need to.
Some ties are too old to sever, even after everything.
Before I can leave completely, Irene’s voice calls out from behind me. “Stay a little longer. For tea,” she says.
It’s not a plea. It’s softer than that.
I hesitate, then turn back. “Alright.”
In her kitchen, everything feels frozen in time—old porcelain cups, copper kettles, shelves lined with spices that have probably sat untouched for years.
She moves with gentle familiarity, setting everything in place. The kettle hums.
“Your mother used to drink this blend,” she says, handing me a cup of strong black tea tinged with something floral.
I sip, and the taste is strange but comforting.
“I don’t remember,” I admit.
“She drank it before every hard decision,” Irene says, her voice distant.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
“She was stubborn,” Irene adds after a pause, a faint smile pulling at her mouth. “Wouldn’t back down from anything.”
“Maybe that’s where I get it,” I murmur.
We sit at the table, the tea warming our hands.
“I didn’t just come back for closure,” I admit.
Irene looks up, her gaze steady.
“I needed to know if there was more,” I continue.
She studies me carefully.
“You want to know if you were meant to be more than what they shaped you into,” she says, seeing right through me.
I nod slowly.
