Chapter 238
-CELINE POV-
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Hunter had insisted on buying me the Paris house even after I told him I could rent an apartment on my own. He didn’t even argue, not in words anyway…..just sent me a video tour of a quiet townhouse tucked off Rue Saint–Dominique and said, “If you’re going to be away from me, at least be comfortable doing it.” noveldrama
He’d already hired a local housekeeper named Estelle who came twice a week, stocked the kitchen with everything I might ever crave, and left fresh flowers on the dining table every Monday morning. The house itself was old but beautiful–arched windows, creaking wooden floors, white curtains that danced with every breeze. From the balcony, I could see the Eiffel Tower’s top half, glinting faintly above the city like a secret.
The first week was the hardest. I missed the noise of our mornings…..the sound of Caesar arguing with his cereal, Hunter’s half–awake voice demanding “five more minutes.” Here, mornings began with silence and ended with the faint hum of the city below.
But as the days went by, I began to find something soothing in that quiet.
Classes filled my mornings. I would drive through cobblestone streets to the ceramic studio Hunter found for me—small, tucked behind a florist’s shop that smelled of lavender and wet soil. Inside, the light fell through the glass ceiling like honey, coating everything in a soft gold.
That was where I met Fumi, my favorite kind of unexpected person. Nigerian, loud, generous with both opinions and laughter. She had a way of making every room feel awake.
“You know what your problem is, Celine?” she said one morning, tying her apron like she was preparing for
war.
“I wasn’t aware I had one,” I said, dipping my fingers into the cool clay.
“You do. You keep sighing like a woman in a romantic movie. Stop thinking about your man. He’s alive, not a ghost.”
I tried not to smile. “I was thinking about my project.”
“Which just happens to have your husband’s name.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
“True,” she said, grinning. “But you love me anyway.”
By the second week, Fumi had practically adopted me. We’d grab lunch after class….she always ordered something spicy enough to make the waiter question her sanity. I’d stick to a croque monsieur or salad, pretending not to sweat each time she insisted I “just try a little pepper.”
Afternoons became my quiet hours. I’d paint, walk along the Seine, sometimes sit in cafés sketching people. Hunter called every night, sometimes twice a day if Caesar missed me too much. Our son had started following him to the office,….“Junior CEO,” as Vincent called him.
Those little video calls kept me steady. Seeing Caesar’s smile, hearing Hunter’s tired but teasing voice–it all
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made Paris feel less strange.
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On Thursday morning, the city was glazed with a soft drizzle, the kind that made the streets look like silver ribbons. Fumi and I had just finished our class when she decided we needed croissants from the bakery across the street. She said it like a medical emergency.
We were crossing when I saw her.
At first, it didn’t register. I noticed the building before I noticed her–a small, clean façade with a brass plaque that read “Thérapie Intégrative….Dr. Lemaire & Associés.” The kind of discreet, quiet place people went to heal.
Then the door opened, and Mia stepped out.
My breath caught before my mind even caught up.
She looked… nothing like I remembered. Her once–polished aura was gone. No designer heels, no perfectly arranged hair. Just jeans, sneakers, and a plain gray sweater. Her hair was cut shorter, darker, her face thinner. She looked almost–human.
“Celine?” Fumi turned to me, eyebrows furrowed. “You okay?” I couldn’t answer right away. My throat felt dry.
“That woman,” I said finally, my voice lower than I intended. “I know her.”
“Friend?” Fumi asked.
“Not exactly.”
Fumi gave her a quick assessing look. “Ex–friend energy,” she said under her breath, then caught my eye. “You want me to stay?”
I shook my head. “No. It’s fine. Go grab us a table, I’ll catch up.” Fumi hesitated, squeezed my arm, then walked off toward the café.
Mia hadn’t seen me yet. She was speaking with a woman in a beige coat–her therapist, I guessed. Something about the way her shoulders curved inward made her seem small, fragile even. When she finally turned, our eyes met, and her steps faltered.
For a heartbeat, we both just stood there.
“Celine,” she said quietly, like the name itself hurt.
“Mia.”
The mood between us was stuffy, heavy with the past neither of us wanted to touch. She looked me over……my hair, shorter now; the soft scarf around my neck; my hands still speckled with clay. “You look… different,” she said.
“I could say the same,” I replied.
A ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth. “I’m here for therapy,” she said after a moment, glancing at the ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ Find_Novel(.)net
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building behind her. “Trying to… fix what I broke, I guess.”
I nodded slowly. “That’s good. I hope it helps.”
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Her gaze lowered to the sidewalk. “I didn’t expect to see you. I thought you’d still be in New York.”
“I’m here for art school,” I said. “Ceramics, painting, a little of everything.”
“That sounds like you,” she murmured.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Cars moved behind us, people walked past, life carried on as if two women who once tore each other’s worlds apart weren’t standing on opposite ends of a quiet Paris street.
“I heard you and Hunter are still together,” she said finally.
“We are.”
She nodded, her lips pressing together as if holding back more words. “That’s good. You deserve that.”
There was no hatefulness in her tone….just exhaustion. The kind that comes from carrying regret too long. I studied her face, searching for the arrogance I once hated, but there was none left. Only traces of someone trying to find their way back from something dark.
“If you’re looking for forgiveness, Mia,” I said softly, “I don’t think I’m the one who can give it to you.”
She shook her head quickly. “I’m not asking for that. I just… wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything. I don’t expect anything from it. I just needed to say it out loud.” Her voice trembled, and for a moment, I almost didn’t recognize her.
I took a slow breath, the kind that steadies a heart before it breaks open. “Then I hope you find peace,” I said simply. “Truly.”
Mia’s eyes sparkled. She gave a small nod and turned, walking away down the wet street.
I watched her until she disappeared into the crowd, her gray sweater blending into the gray city. When Fumi returned a few minutes later, balancing two croissants and a cup of coffee, she looked at me with her usual curiosity.
“You okay?” she asked, handing me the cup.
I nodded. “I think so.”
“She didn’t look like trouble,” Fumi said, squinting down the street.
“No,” I admitted, my voice quiet. “She looked like someone who finally met her consequences.”
Fumi blew on her coffee and smiled. “Well, good for her. And good for you…..for not throwing that croissant at her. That’s growth, my dear.”
I laughed then, really laughed, the sound light in the cool Paris air.
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As we walked toward the river, the sky began to clear, sunlight spilling between the clouds. I realized, for the first time in months, that I didn’t feel angry anymore. Just… free.
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