The apartment was still cloaked in darkness when I returned. No lights. No warmth. Only stale air, faintly carrying the sour scent of something rotting in the sink. I didn’t bother flipping the switch. I dropped my bag by the door and kicked it shut behind me, each echoing thud cutting through the heavy silence.

I didn’t even change out of the thin hospital gown under my hoodie. I collapsed onto the couch, face down, arms draped over the sides like a ragdoll. The fabric scratched against my bandages, but exhaustion overpowered the discomfort. Sleep offered no solace—it never does when dreams know truths your lips haven’t yet spoken.

Hours passed. I awoke groggy and sore, blinking into the darkness, when I heard it: a clattering—from the kitchen.

I sat up slowly, every muscle heavy, cold, aching, and padded toward the sound on bare feet. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I’d left the TV on. Or maybe someone was breaking in. But as I rounded the corner, I saw them.

Rafael stood at the stove, grilling steak. Victor was at the counter, chopping vegetables with methodical precision. The table was already set—plates, cutlery, glasses, even a neatly folded napkin at each place.

They looked up as our eyes met.

Rafael spoke first. “We thought you were at your aunt’s,” he said, as if that explained everything. “We didn’t want to disturb you.”

Victor’s eyes flicked to his knife and back. “We didn’t know you were in the hospital,” he added, voice low, guilt threading through every word.

I said nothing. I walked to the table and sat. I didn’t touch the food.

“You have to eat. You just got discharged,” Rafael said, frowning, turning off the stove.

I looked at him, cold and precise. “You didn’t check on me for a week.”

Silence followed, sharp enough to crack bone. No one moved. No one breathed.

Then the doorbell rang.

Both men turned, and Victor moved first, hurrying to open it. Celestine stood there, pale, fragile, wrists wrapped in clean bandages hidden beneath the sleeves of a delicate blouse. A porcelain doll cracked, but not shattered.

At the sight of her, Rafael and Victor moved instinctively. Rafael scooped her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, laying her gently on the couch. “You shouldn’t be out,” he whispered, brushing hair from her face. “What if something happens?”

“I was alone in the hospital room,” she said, eyes wide and anxious. “I kept thinking… what if I never woke up again? What if no one was there? I panicked. I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

Rafael softened immediately, moving closer, but she raised a weak hand.

“If it’s too much, I can go back,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

“Hey, hey, no,” Rafael said, worry threading his voice. “You’re not a burden. You should’ve called sooner. We’ll take care of you.”

Victor hovered behind him. “We’ll go back to the hospital after we check on Aurelia. Then we’ll stay with you tonight.”

I said nothing. I picked up my fork and ate. The steak was dry, overdone, still pink in the center. Every bite tasted like ashes, like cardboard—but I chewed anyway. I wouldn’t let them see me stop. He made steak—my least favorite—and they hadn’t remembered.

A small, bitter laugh escaped me. I swallowed it down with a sip of water. Rafael and Victor fussed over Celestine, setting her place, coaxing her to eat, treating her like glass. She drank in their attention like it was her birthright. Occasionally, her eyes flicked to me, sharp, triumphant, as if to say, you lost.

Then my phone buzzed. Mom. Over a dozen photos of wedding dresses flooded the screen—lace, silk, heavy beading, cathedral veils. I scrolled numbly until the third dress—a satin off-the-shoulder gown with a cinched waist and cascading ruffles. Without hesitation, I hit call.

“Did you get the dresses?” Mom’s voice was warm, expectant. “I think the third one suits you best… but if your fiancé prefers white—”

“I love the third,” I said, quick and light, cheerful even. “It’s perfect. I can already picture it. I’m really… excited.”

There was a pause. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so glad. I knew you’d love it. You always liked classic silhouettes.”

I nodded, forcing a small laugh. “Yeah. I think it’ll be beautiful. I’m really looking forward to my WEDDING.”

A movement flickered across the room, but I didn’t look up.

“How much longer do you need over there?” she asked.

“Just a week. I’ll finish up and be home.”

“Good. Everything’s almost ready.”

I hung up and set the phone on the table. That’s when I felt it—silence heavy, full, like breath held. I looked up.

Rafael and Victor were staring at me. Celestine froze mid-forkful, expression soft but eyes sharp.

Rafael was first. He stepped away from her, crossing the room in seconds, voice tight. “Wedding?”

Victor followed, brows furrowed, jaw tight. “What wedding?”

I rose slowly, deliberately, letting each movement feel as though it were measured against some invisible clock. My hands smoothed the fabric of my hoodie, running over the soft cotton as if brushing off invisible dust from delicate silk, careful not to disturb the faint creases along the sleeves. I moved with precision, aware of every step, every motion, because I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. My eyes, steady and unyielding, sought Rafael’s across the room, locking with his for a fraction of a second that stretched longer than it should have. A measured, delicate smile tugged at my lips—polite, practiced, and faintly cruel in its restraint. It was a smile that spoke civility without warmth, control without surrender.

“The one you’re not invited to,” I said, letting the words hang like a small blade in the air, sharp but almost casual. I let my tone hover between amusement and dismissal, knowing full well the sting it would carry.

Rafael’s laughter came first, short, startled, a sound that carried more disbelief than humor. It was a laugh that tried to convince itself this was a joke, that I couldn’t possibly mean it, that this couldn’t possibly be real. I felt a strange, cold satisfaction as it rolled off his tongue, the first crack in his composure, fleeting though it was.

Victor followed, his low, amused chuckle filling the room like a warning. The sound was familiar, the one he always used when he thought I was straining too hard to be clever, when he believed he’d caught me trying. His head shook slowly, almost affectionately, and he said, “Come on. You nearly had us. Almost.” His words were light, teasing, but they carried the quiet acknowledgment of my effort, an acknowledgment that barely grazed the surface of their understanding.

I said nothing. I let the silence stretch, let it settle thickly between us. Let them laugh, let it echo, let it ricochet off the walls and settle in the hollow spaces where I stored every unspoken word, every thought swallowed before it could be uttered.

Celestine tilted her head, draped across the couch like some fragile martyr, the faint curl of a smile tugging at her lips, a smirk that suggested she had already anticipated the outcome. “Yeah, it’s a joke,” she said, her voice mock-sweet, light as a feather but laced with venom. “Because let’s be honest, no one’s really interested in Aurelia. She can’t even dress herself properly—baggy hoodies, baggy pants. What’s she hiding under all that?”

Rafael snorted, sharp and bright, and nudged Victor lightly, as though Celestine had just delivered the revelation of the century. “She does dress like she’s hiding,” he agreed, a grin spreading across his face. “You should try dressing like Celestine.”

The laughter that followed filled the room again, echoing against the walls, reverberating into the hollow spaces where I kept everything I hadn’t dared voice. The sound should have stung, should have drawn a reaction, but I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink.

“Yeah,” I said softly, letting the corners of my mouth lift just enough to imply civility, just barely. “It’s a joke. It’s my cousin’s wedding.”

The laughter stopped as if someone had flipped a switch, leaving a deafening silence that hung heavy in the air.

“You all can come,” I added, and I held their eyes with deliberate intensity. I wanted them to understand that I meant it, even if I didn’t care if they actually came. It was a truth delivered coldly, measured, precise.

Rafael scratched the back of his neck, a subtle tell I had memorized long ago, and looked away first. “Ah, we’re gonna be busy,” he said, a tinge of hesitation in his voice, a trace of discomfort at being caught in my quiet trap.

“Yeah,” Victor added, quick, eager to fill the silence, to redirect the moment. “We’re taking Celestine to Switzerland next week. It’s part of her birthday gift. Doctors said she could travel once she’s stronger.”

Rafael’s gaze softened as he looked down at Celestine, a tenderness returning that I hadn’t seen in weeks. It was the look of someone who held a fragile glass object in his hands, fully aware of its vulnerability yet determined to protect it with a kind of fierce, unreasonable care. His eyes lingered on her, scanning every subtle twitch, every shiver, every slight falter, as though he could absorb her pain simply by noticing it. “Once she’s recovered, we’ll spend a few weeks there,” he said, his voice soft, deliberate, weighted with conviction. “Clean air, mountains. She deserves it.”

Celestine leaned against his chest, her eyes meeting mine for a brief, fleeting moment, a glance loaded with triumph. A victorious little smile danced across her lips, the kind of smile that belonged to someone who had already claimed more than they were allowed. She looked like a girl who had already marked her territory in the world, confident and untouchable, basking in the quiet power she had carved for herself.

I smiled too, but it was thin, fleeting, a mere shadow of warmth, a quiet mirror to her triumph. I didn’t speak. Words felt useless here. Silence was my armor, my shield. I could hear everything, feel everything, yet remain untouchable by it all.

I turned and walked slowly toward the stairs, each step measured, deliberate, letting the sounds of their voices rise behind me. Laughter, soft and warm, full of care—but unmistakably not for me—washed over me like waves brushing against a shore I could never reach. Their voices lingered, echoing in the hollow spaces of the house, a haunting reminder of everything I had been excluded from, everything I had been denied.

At the top of the stairs, I stepped into my room and closed the door with a gentle, deliberate push, careful not to make it slam. I didn’t lock it; there was no need. No one ever came up here uninvited. This was my sanctuary, the last place that remained untouched by their intrusion.

I lay down on the bed, drawing the blanket over my legs, staring at the ceiling with eyes that refused to see. The faint clinking of cutlery, murmured conversation, and soft laughter floated up from downstairs—fragments of a life I could observe but never inhabit. Rafael’s laughter, the way Celestine coughed delicately into her hand, Victor checking her tea, making sure it was warm enough—all of it built a world around me that I was excluded from, a life I could watch from the edges.

I didn’t cry. I never did. I closed my eyes, letting the quiet wrap around me like a thick, familiar blanket, enveloping me in a cocoon of deliberate isolation.

I was halfway to sleep when the door creaked, a soft, hesitant sound that made me shift slightly. I turned my face to the wall, too tired to care who might be on the other side, too drained to muster curiosity.

Soft footsteps crossed the floor, careful and deliberate, and then the faint, comforting scent of warm milk reached me before her voice did.

“I brought you something,” Celestine said, her tone light, almost sweet, but beneath it, there was a subtle trace of bitterness, a sourness that clung like rot hidden under honey.

I didn’t move. I didn’t acknowledge her presence. I simply lay there, still as a statue.

She stood at the foot of my bed, the glass balanced delicately in her hands like fragile porcelain. “Why did you even come back?” she asked, tilting her head, her words poised as if the answer were obvious—but I wasn’t clever enough to supply it.

I turned toward her slowly, pushing myself upright just slightly, letting the blanket slide off my shoulder. My posture was defensive, careful, a quiet statement of “stay back.” “Yeah?” I said, my voice dry, measured. “Why are you still in my house?”

Her lips twitched in a flicker of amusement, that faint, calculated movement that made me want to grit my teeth. “I’m leaving. Don’t worry. Rafael and Victor are taking me to the hospital later. I just wanted to see you first before I go.”

I didn’t thank her. I didn’t acknowledge her. I simply watched, letting her words float into the room like empty confetti.

She walked closer, her steps muted by the rug beneath her feet, setting the glass on the table beside my bed but lingering, her fingers brushing the rim as though it contained some secret she wasn’t ready to release.

“Is it painful?” she asked, her voice smooth, stretched too tight like silk pulled too far. “Seeing your boyfriend and his brother take care of me like I’m the most fragile, precious thing in the world?”

I didn’t answer.

“I mean, what were you even doing in the hospital?” she continued, her brows arched, catlike, predatory. “Pretending to be sick for a week? Were you disappointed when they didn’t show up? Did you expect them to rush in?”

My eyes felt heavy again. I didn’t want to give her words. I lay back down, pulling the blanket over my shoulder, swallowing everything I might have said.

“I don’t care,” I murmured finally, and I meant it more than she could ever know.

I closed my eyes. Silence stretched on, too long, just long enough for me to think she might actually leave.

Then—a sharp, shattering crash.

I opened my eyes in time to see her collapsed on the floor, curled in on herself, hands trembling, her wrist bleeding. Milk had spilled across the rug, seeping into the fibers and mingling with the red like some grotesque, chaotic painting. Her body shook with low, broken sobs, shoulders rattling as if the core of her being had fractured beyond repair. Best actress. Yeah.

I just stared, frozen, taking it all in.

The noise sent Rafael and Victor sprinting toward the room, urgency in every movement. Rafael was first, followed closely by Victor, both faces storm-dark, eyes wide with alarm, a sharp mixture of fear and anger.

Rafael dropped to his knees beside Celestine without sparing me a glance, lifting her into his arms as though she were made of fragile glass already shattered. He murmured her name over and over, a desperate, almost prayerful repetition, as if the sound of it could stitch together the pieces that had fallen apart.

“Celestine!” His voice cracked, trembled, carried the weight of panic and protection, a plea wrapped in devotion and fear, a sound meant to heal even as it trembled.