Chapter 7
Celeste’s POV
When the dust finally settled, Allen returned home alone.
My spirit followed him as he pushed open that familiar door. He stood dazed in the entryway–everything remained exactly as I
had left it.
“Celeste…” he whispered softly.
But no one answered.
He slowly walked into the bedroom and froze completely. On
the nightstand still sat our wedding photo–me beaming with
joy, him holding me tenderly, his eyes full of love.
“Back then… I really did love you,” he said, trembling as he
picked up the frame. “When did I start betraying my own vows?”
Allen sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands, weeping quietly.
After a long while, he stood and began searching frantically.
In my vanity drawer, he found the signed divorce papers. Seeing
my signature on the document, his hands shook violently.
What shocked him even more were the dark red spots on the papers–my nosebleed from when my brain cancer had flared up.
“Is this… blood?”
His phone rang.
“Is this Mr. Allen Cooper? This is Davidson Law Firm calling,”
came an unfamiliar male voice.
“What is it?” Allen answered mechanically.
“Regarding the execution of your late wife Celeste Cooper’s will.
According to her wishes, she has left all her assets–including a $
500,000 life insurance policy–to you and her parents.”
“What?” Allen felt the world spinning. “A will? When did she…”
“Additionally, I must inform you-” the lawyer’s voice grew
heavy, “Mrs. Cooper provided us with a cancer diagnosis when
she drafted the will. Stage four glioblastoma. She knew she didn‘
t have long to live a month ago.”
Allen’s phone crashed to the floor as he collapsed completely.
“Brain cancer… a month ago… and I was still threatening her
with divorce…” He covered his face in agony. “She knew she was
dying, but she never said anything…”
Allen continued searching frantically. Finally, in the bottom of
the drawer, he found a letter addressed “To Allen.”
He unfolded the paper:
*My Dearest Allen,*
*By the time you read this, I will probably be gone.*
*I know you love Vivienne–I accepted that reality long ago. From the moment she first leaned weakly into your arms, I knew I had lost you. But I never blamed you for it–after all, love
cannot be forced.*
*The doctors told me I have brain cancer, only three to four months to live. Honestly, in that moment I felt almost relieved. At least I wouldn’t have to watch you two be in love anymore,
wouldn’t have to endure that pain.*
*I agreed to donate my kidney to Vivienne not because of any
sisterly love, but because I knew that only this way could my
death bring you happiness. If my death could help your love
story, then at least it would have some value.*
*Allen, though our marriage has come to an end, I hope you can find true happiness.*
*Forever wishing you well,*
*Celeste*
After reading the letter, Allen completely broke down. He fell to
his knees, screaming in anguish:
“No… it wasn’t like that! Celeste, it wasn’t like that! I loved YOU!
I always loved you! I was deceived! I killed you!”
Over the following months, Vivienne faced trial for multiple
felonies.
But even in court, she showed no remorse, saying in front of
everyone: “My only regret is that I didn’t kill her sooner!”
The judge ultimately sentenced Vivienne to life in prison without the possibility of parole.
My family fell apart under the series of devastating blows.
After learning the truth, Father’s heart condition worsened
dramatically. That night, while sitting in the living room looking at my childhood photos, he suffered a massive heart attack. By the time the ambulance arrived, he had stopped breathing. Before he died, he kept repeating: “I’m sorry, Celeste.
Daddy is so sorry…”
Mother had a complete mental breakdown after losing both her husband and daughters. She began having hallucinations,
constantly seeing me standing in corners of the room, apologizing to me over and over. Eventually, she was committed
to a psychiatric facility for the rest of her life.
Allen carried the heaviest burden of guilt.
He quit his job and spent his days drowning in alcohol. Friends urged him to start a new life, but he always shook his head: “I killed the best woman in the world. I don’t deserve happiness.”
He began drinking heavily and self–harming, leaving scars all over his wrists. He threw away everything in the house related to Vivienne but filled every room with my photos, confessing to them daily: “I was wrong, so terribly wrong… If I could do it
over, I would never let you get hurt…”
But I couldn’t respond to him–I could only watch silently as he drowned in his pain.
A year later, Allen made his final decision.
It was the anniversary of my death. He dressed in my favorite
suit, shaved his beard, trying to look like he had when we first
married.
He filled the living room with candles, placed our wedding
photo in the center, then retrieved sleeping pills from the
medicine cabinet.
“Celeste, I’m coming to join you,” he said, trembling as he opened the bottle. “I know you’re waiting for me. This time, I
won’t keep you waiting long.”
He swallowed the pills one by one, holding my photograph as he slowly closed his eyes.
At that moment, my soul finally felt its last release. Watching them all receive their due endings, the hatred in my heart slowly dissipated.
I quietly observed this world that had once caused me such pain, then slowly turned and walked toward the light.