With a quiet sigh, I set my phone aside, keeping my composure. Maybe I had simply grown numb to the way she treated me, so the sting didn’t cut as deep anymore.
But the truth lingered; I still found myself, at times, imagining them close again, even if it meant reopening old wounds behind closed doors.
One of the reasons I kept coming up with ways to pull Celeste back was hoping she would find her way into my arms again.
But now, as I lay on the brink of death, the realization hit me like a slap; how foolish I had been back then. I had nearly lost all sense of dignity, becoming nothing more than a man who bent to Celeste's every whim, terrified she would push me away.
But the worst was still to come. When I got home and opened the door, I saw Noah and Celeste, hand in hand on the sofa, looking every bit like a genuine couple.
Sitting across from them was an unfamiliar middle-aged woman who looked up at me, her expression a blend of wide-eyed surprise and curiosity.
“Um, Mr. Quinn, Miss Morgan, who is this man?” she asked, her gaze shifting between us.