Chapter 13
The air was filled with the soft cooing of pigeons, their wings fluttering against the bright blue sky. Children’s laughter rang through the square, pure and unburdened, a stark contrast to the silence stretching between us.
For a long time, I didn’t speak. Then, finally, I turned to Atlas.
“You don’t deserve to stay by my side, Atlas,” 1 said. “Nothing you have belongs to me. It belongs to Ivy. Wasn’t that what you intended all along?”
His face stiffened, but I didn’t stop.
“I’ve spent years living in the illusion you created, believing every lie you fed me,” I continued, my words as steady as my heartbeat. “Do you have any idea how much I hated myself when I finally saw the truth?”
His fingers twitched slightly, his entire body unmoving.
I let out a slow breath, my expression unreadable. “I hated myself for loving you.”
I let the words sink in, let them twist through the air like a blade cutting deep. “I hated myself for loving the man who destroyed everything I had.”
Atlas flinched, barely perceptible, but I caught it.
And just like that, the last remnants of anger drained from my body. I looked at the face I had known for twenty years. The man who had shared my bed for five.
And suddenly–there was no more hatred left in me.
Perhaps, in every life, there was a person meant to wound you so deeply that you’d never be the same again.
I rose to my feet, gazing down at him. A soft, detached smile curved my lips, but it never reached my eyes.
“Atlas,” I said, my voice light, almost gentle. “I will never forgive you.”
The summer sun beat down on us, but he looked frozen.
I watched as his lips parted slightly, then curled into something almost pitiful. “Celeste,” he whispered, “but I love you. I really, truly love you.”
His voice was so quiet, carried away by the wind before it ever reached me.
I lifted my camera, turning away from him, capturing the smiles of strangers–the joy of those who had never known the kind of pain I had endured.
In the corner of my frame, there was only one figure hunched over on a bench, his face buried in his hands. The only one who didn’t belong.
“Sis, will you take a picture for us?” A small, excited voice tugged at my sleeve.
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Seven Years of Love, Seven Minutes
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Chapter 13
I turned to see a boy, no older than five, clutching, a flower crown while his sister giggled beside him, reaching up to place it on his head.
A genuine smile broke across my lips for the first time in a long while.
“Of course,” I said, raising my camera.
The shutter clicked, freezing their innocence in time. And just for a moment, I thought of another day, two decades
ago.
A five–year–old Atlas had woven a tiny grass bracelet and slipped it onto my wrist, his eyes full of childish devotion as he whispered:
“I’ll always protect you, Celeste. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Back then, there had been no lies in his eyes—only me.
A sudden warmth pressed against my back, pulling me from my thoughts.
A breath–warm and painfully familiar–brushed against my ear, sending an unwanted shiver through me. Atlas’s arms wrapped around me tightly, almost desperately, locking me in place.
I stiffened.
His embrace was suffocating, as if he thought that if he just held me close enough, I wouldn’t slip away.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke, thick with something between sorrow and longing.
“Celeste… don’t you see?” he whispered against my skin. “That’s us. That boy, that girl–they’re us.”
His arms tightened.
“Give me another chance,” he pleaded. “Let me spend the rest of my life making things right. I’ll give you everything you want. I’ll give you anything.”
His breath hitched. “Just let me stay.”
Something hot and wet landed on the back of my hand—his tears.
I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly. Then, in the coldest voice I had ever used with him, I said—
“Atlas, I just want you to disappear.”
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