Celeste let out a small laugh, even as her eyes glistened. “So, you really think I should go back?”
“Yes,” I said. “Back to college. Back to a place where your name doesn’t carry weight, where no one is watching you to see what you’ll become.”
“But what if something happens while I’m gone?” she asked.
My heart twisted. “Then we handle it. Together. From a distance, if we have to.”
She swallowed. “I don’t want to feel like I’m running away.”
“You’re not,” I said firmly.
I sighed and glanced at my ex. “Don’t look smug.”
He looked smug.
Celeste squeezed my hand. “I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you.”
“I would never think that,” I said. “I want you to live a life that isn’t defined by the dangers circling Stonewick right now. I want your magic to stay pure as long as possible, where we can help you learn not because danger is nipping at your heels, but because you want to.”
She leaned forward then and wrapped her arms around me, holding on tight. I hugged her back just as fiercely, pressing my cheek to her hair, breathing her in like I was memorizing her.
“I hate this part of being a parent,” she murmured.
“So do I,” I replied. “But it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
We stayed like that for a moment longer, and I swore the library breathed quietly around us, and the sprites respectfully distant.
Even the toad was uncharacteristically quiet.
Eventually, Celeste pulled back and wiped at her eyes.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go back and start the semester.”
Relief and grief tangled together in my chest.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
She smiled, brave and aching all at once. “You’re still coming to visit.”
“Oh, absolutely,” I said. “I’m going to be an embarrassment.”
As we stood there together, the decision settled into place, solid and necessary. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want it.
But loving someone had never been about keeping them close at all costs.
The toad chose that exact moment to hop directly onto my shoe.
I froze, staring down at him as he puffed up, clearly pleased with himself, his webbed feet planted like he had every right to be there. He’d been inserting himself into everything lately, meetings, hallways, and emotional conversations, and I’d reached the end of my patience.
“All right,” I said quietly. “That’s enough.”
He ribbited, unapologetic.
I bent down and gently but firmly nudged him back onto the table.
“You don’t get to hover anymore,” I told him. “Or hop. Or supervise. You’re no longer an active participant in my life.”
My ex blinked at me.
