Chapter 79: Chapter 79
Music Recommendation: Red by Taylor Swift.
.....
Celeste walked into the bedroom slowly, and quietly, like she was trespassing a moment that didn’t belong to her.
The soft click of the door shutting behind her was the only sound that marked her entrance. The air was still. Not the peaceful still kind. This was just still.
This was the kind of stillness that settled on a body right after the chaos of grief had passed through it.
There he was, on the bed. Dominic.
He lay flat on his back, and his eyes were fixed on the ceiling like it held all the answers he refused to speak aloud. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his tie undone, but his shoes still on. He hadn’t changed out of the clothes he wore to the funeral.
Celeste’s throat tightened. He had been this way for days now, and each time she sees Jim this way, it shattered her.
Her heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor as she walked toward him. She sat gently at the edge of the bed and looked at him.
For a moment, he was no longer the man who everyone feared, nor the man who had the world wrapped around his finger. At this moment, he was just a man who just buried his mother.
There was no pretence in his grief, as she was the only woman who had truly raised him. The only person, other than her, who had ever known his soul.
"You didn’t wait for me," she said quietly.
No reply.
Her voice, though soft, cut through the silence like a razor. But Dominic didn’t flinch. Neither did he blink. His face was stone, unreadable.
Celeste didn’t push. She didn’t ask again. She reached down, took off her shoes, one by one, and set them gently aside.
Then, she climbed onto the bed, moving slowly, as though trying not to scare him away. She lowered herself beside him, her head finding its place on his chest, right where his heart beat, sounded in a rhythm, so low and slow and guarded. Her hand reached out, fingers brushing against his until he let her lace them with his.
Still, he said nothing.
His hand didn’t squeeze back. Nor did he acknowledge her hold. He just let it rest there, passive and cold, while he continued staring at the ceiling.
She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the silence between them. She listened to his heartbeat that had once thundered when she touched him. Now, it was just a faint echo of everything he was holding in.
The ceiling stared back at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. He hadn’t even acknowledged her warmth or presence.
Minutes passed.
And then he spoke.
"I have work to do."
That was all. Four words. Four dry, flat words. No emotion. No anger. No affection.
He unlinked their fingers. He did it so carefully, and almost politely.
Then he rose from the bed.
Celeste turned her face into the space where his body had been.
The sheets were still warm.
Dominic crossed the room without another word, picked up his phone from the table, and walked out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Celeste stayed there, staring at the ceiling as though it could tell her why he’d become a ghost in his own skin. The air he left behind was colder, and heavier.
She pulled the sheets closer to herself, like maybe they could still hold him for her. But even his scent felt muted now, buried under something that wasn’t quite death but was close enough.
He radiated a perfect description that comes with the emptiness of grief left when it had eaten through everything else.
Her chest ached, slow, and deep that it sat in her bones and refused to move.
She turned her head toward the closed door. The faint sound of his footsteps retreated down the hallway.
The old Dominic would have looked back at her before leaving. He would have said something, even if he didn’t kiss her forehead.
But now, there was nothing. No pause at the doorway. Not even a single glance over his shoulder. Just the sound of his shoes on the polished wood, fading until there was only silence again.
He hadn’t even met her eyes for days now.
Celeste sat up slowly, the mattress dipping and creaking under her weight. Her hands found the spot where he had been lying, fingers splaying over the warm dent as if she could press hard enough to bring him back to it.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, letting her bare feet touch the cold floor. Her toes curled against it, and for a moment she just sat there, her hands gripping her knees, staring at nothing.
The clock on the wall ticked. She hated that sound. It reminded her that time was still moving when he wasn’t.
She rose finally, crossing to the window. Outside, the world was still busy. Life carried on with careless ease.
Her reflection stared back at her in the glass. Her eyes were tired, and her shoulders were heavy. Her lips were pressed tight because if she let them part, she might say his name.
And if she said his name, she might cry.
She pressed her forehead to the cool pane, closing her eyes. She thought of following him. She thought of demanding that he look at her, speak to her, let her in, or even, just let her sit with him in silence.
She wasn’t sure which would break her more—him saying nothing, or him saying something that proved he was already gone.
She knew grief, and what it did to people. But what she wasn’t sure of was if she wouldn’t lose herself with Dominic acting this way.
Celeste turned away from the window and sat back on the bed, curling into the space he had left. She lay there in the darkened room, shoes on the floor, and the weight of his silence pressing into her from every side.