Between The Notes

Twenty-Two: The Ghost of a Name

The drive back from Seraphina's mother's house had been long, but the weight in Seraphina's chest felt lighter with Celeste beside her. They had spent the night at Seraphina's house, wrapped in a quiet kind of comfort, a sanctuary away from the cruelty of the past. But when morning came, the world intruded again.

Celeste's phone buzzed on the nightstand, vibrating against the wood with a steady hum. She groaned, rolling over and pulling the blanket over her head.

"It's been ringing like that for the past hour," Seraphina murmured, stretching beside her.

Celeste peeked out from the covers, eyes groggy. "Who the hell is trying to reach me this early?"

Seraphina smirked. "It's noon."

Celeste sighed, grabbing her phone, and when she saw the name flashing on the screen, she hesitated. Mom.

Her stomach tightened. She hadn't spoken to her mother much since she had been spending most of her time with Seraphina. They had exchanged a few texts here and there, but nothing beyond that. She tapped the screen to answer, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Hey, Mom."

"Oh, thank God," her mother breathed. "I've been trying to get ahold of you."

Celeste frowned, sitting up. "What's wrong?"

There was a long pause. "I wasn't sure if I should tell you this... but I think you deserve to know."

Celeste felt Seraphina shift beside her, sensing the sudden change in her demeanor. "Tell me what?"

Her mother exhaled, and the hesitation in her voice made Celeste's stomach twist.

"Your father contacted me."

Silence.

The words didn't register at first. They bounced off the walls of her mind, too foreign, too strange. Her father?

Her father—someone who had never been a part of her life, someone who had existed only as a whisper of a past she had never known.

Her hands tightened around the phone. "What?"

"I know this is a shock," her mother continued, her voice soft. "I never expected him to reach out, not after all these years. But he... he wants to meet you."

Celeste's breath came short. "I don't understand. Why now?"

"I don't know," her mother admitted. "I was just as surprised as you are. He didn't give me much detail, just said that he wanted to talk."

Celeste felt her pulse pounding in her ears. "And you think I should meet him?"

Her mother hesitated. "I think it's your choice. I won't tell you what to do, but I also know that if you don't, you might always wonder."

Celeste's throat tightened. Wonder? She had spent her entire life not wondering. She had accepted that he wasn't there, that he had never wanted to be. And now, suddenly, he did?

She swallowed hard. "I need to go."

"Celeste—"

But she hung up before her mother could say anything else.

She sat there, her phone still clutched in her hand, staring at nothing. The air in the room felt heavier now, pressing down on her chest.

Seraphina reached over, gently touching Celeste's arm. "Are you okay?"

Celeste let out a breathless laugh, but there was no humor in it. "I don't know."

Seraphina's eyes searched hers, filled with concern. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Celeste shook her head, slipping out of bed. "I just... I need a minute."

Seraphina nodded, understanding in her gaze. "Take your time."

⸻

Celeste sat at her desk, a blank sheet of paper in front of her, the familiar weight of a pen in her hand. When emotions overwhelmed her—when words failed in conversations—she turned to poetry. It had always been her escape, her way of making sense of the things she couldn't understand.

She tapped the pen against the paper, her thoughts tangled and chaotic.

How was she supposed to feel?

Angry? Confused? Curious?

A father was supposed to be someone who was there. Someone who loved you from the start. But he had never been there. Not once. Not for a birthday, not for a scraped knee, not for anything.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and began to write.

⸻

"A Name I Never Knew"

I was never your daughter,
only a whisper of something you left behind,
a ghost of a child you never held,
a name you never spoke.

Did you wonder about me?
Did you wake in the night,
thinking of the life you never touched?
Or did you forget me so easily,
as if I were a dream
that never mattered?

And now, after all this time,
you speak as if I am real to you,
as if I have been waiting for you
to return to a place
you were never meant to be.

But I am not a door left open.
I am not a heart unscarred.
I am a girl who learned to live
without the weight of your name.

So tell me,
why should I carry it now?

⸻

Celeste stared at the words, her fingers tightening around the edges of the paper. A part of her wanted to crumple it up, to toss it away as if she could erase the emotions boiling inside of her.

But she didn't.

Instead, she folded it neatly, slipping it into an envelope with her other poems—the ones she had written for Seraphina, the ones she had written in the depths of silence.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where the evening sun cast golden streaks across the sky. She didn't know what to do.

She felt Seraphina before she saw her, the warmth of her presence filling the room.

"Celeste," Seraphina said softly. "I don't want to push you, but... I'm here. Whatever you need."

Celeste let out a slow breath. "I don't know what I need."

Seraphina sat beside her, her fingers brushing against Celeste's. "Then we figure it out together."

Celeste looked at her, searching her face, the tenderness in her eyes, the way she made her feel grounded even when the world was tilting.

"I'm scared," Celeste admitted.

Seraphina gave a small, understanding nod. "That's okay."

Celeste leaned into her, letting Seraphina wrap an arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

For now, that was enough.