I don’t reply to Celeste.
Not that day. Not the next morning. I let the message sit there, unread, like a bruise I refuse to press.
Woman to woman.
The phrase keeps circling my head. It irritates me more than it should. Like we’re equals in something I never signed up for. Like she didn’t step back into my life through a door that wasn’t hers.
Ethan notices before I say anything.
He always does, with the small things. The way I’m quieter than usual. The way I fold laundry with too much care. The way I don’t mention the shop, even though it’s the one place I usually light up.
“What’s wrong?” he asks one evening, casual, like he hasn’t already been bracing himself.
I hesitate. Then I hand him my phone.
He reads the message once. Then again.
His jaw tightens.
“She shouldn’t be conta
