39. Caleb
Chapter 39
Caleb
M ia stirs and brings me back to reality. I don’t even know how long I’ve been staring into the empty space where Celeste disappeared.
“Is Mom up?” She sits up.
“We have to wait a bit longer.”
“Do I have to go to school tomorrow?”
I chuckle. “No, you don’t.” I smile at her. “The messages I got from your mom?”
She looks down, recoiling from me. Fuck.
“Mia, it’s okay, I just need to understand.” I take her hand and squeeze it.
“I found out about you when we were moving to Aunt Greta’s. They argued because Auntie believed Mom should find you. But Mom didn’t want to. I don’t know why, but she wasn’t doing well, and—”
“You did the right thing.” I kiss the crown of her head.
“Do you think the ’thorities will take me from her because she’s sick?”
Oh shit, I didn’t get a chance to process a potential investigation into Reese’s incident. “You mean authorities? Don’t worry, you’ll stay with your mom.”
“But Mom said nobody can know she’s sick because they would take me away.”
Fuck. My. Life.
“Sweetheart, your mom needs to get better, and if she won’t be able to take care of you while she does that, you’ll stay with me. Nobody is taking you away.”
She gives me the most hopeful smile. “I’d like that.” Then panic crosses her tired face. “I mean, I don’t want to leave her—”
“I know, Mia, I know. We’ll help her get better.” It’s a vow, one I’ll follow through on, no matter what.
Shit, I need to call Dominic Cressard to make sure Reese won’t get into trouble for this. The hospital has probably reported her already.
Mia settles against me while I close my eyes for a moment, the events of the day running in a distorted loop in my mind. Fuck, I’m tired.
I pull out my phone and send a text to Celeste.
Me
Good night, black swan.
I screen several messages from Xander.
“Will Celeste be okay if I’m your daughter for real?” Mia’s voice sounds tentative.
“You are my daughter for real.” I ruffle her hair. “Celeste will be delighted to have you around more. We both will, if your mom is okay with that.”
Another bright smile hits me in the chest.
Mia fidgets, and then bites her lips. “Celeste looked sad today.”
“Yeah, we’ve been having a tough day.” I want to leave it at that, but then something prompts me to continue. “She’s from France, as you know. We need to prove our marriage is real so she can keep living here.”
Being honest and open with someone about an issue or a problem, not carrying it by myself, feels strangely liberating.
“But your marriage is real.” The conviction in her statement is endearing.
“I hope the authorities see it the same way.”
“I’ll tell them.” She looks at me with hope.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, but thank you.”
She slouches into her seat, restless. Shit, I wish I could take her mind off her mother, this endless waiting, or all her other insecurities.
I turn to her. “Actually, do you have any photos on your phone from any of our outings? ”
She pulls out her phone and scrolls through. “What about this?” She points the screen at me.
Mia, Celeste and I are grinning in front of the smashing room, all of us still in goggles. I forgot the attendee took this picture with Mia’s phone.
We look like a happy little family. A strangely formed one, but nevertheless real. I study my face and almost don’t recognize myself.
“Can you send it to me?”
This was our first outing, and I was definitely faking my marriage and failing at the parenting gig back then. And yet, the genuine joy in my expression is undeniable. I don’t think I have another picture where I look like this.
“Why are you smiling like this?” She cocks her head, studying me.
“Like what?”
“Like you found a treasure.”
I look at my little girl and shrug. “Because I feel like I found one.”
She leans into me and I hug her, giving her the support she needs, but equally getting some from her.
With a renewed energy, I decide to call Xander, and finally resolve at least one of the issues looming over my head.
At dawn, I take an Uber from the hospital, after I put Greta and Mia into another one.
Reese was transferred out of the ICU. To Greta’s relief, I decided it’s not the best time to waltz into Reese’s life, but I stayed behind while the two of them visited with her.
That conversation will have to happen soon, followed by legal paperwork, so I can officially become Mia’s parent.
All of that is a problem for another day. Right now, my focus is Celeste and today’s hearing with the ICE officer.
I hope she got some sleep. I can’t wait to wrap her in my arms and help her through today.
Checking my watch, I confirm I have time for one more important stop.
The Merged floor is eerily quiet at this hour. I walk around the glass-walled offices with a strange feeling of nostalgia, which makes no sense since this place is still very new to me.
Declan and Xander wait for me in our boardroom, the necessary paperwork laid out on the table. I certainly made Cressard earn his fees in the last twenty-four hours.
Declan leans against the wall and glares at me, not bothering to greet me.
Xander paces the room. “You look like shit. ”
“It’s good I’m not here for a beauty contest, then.”
Mindful of my wife waiting at home, I sit down and scan the documents.
“Are you sure about this?” Declan asks, a hint of a dare in his voice.
“Is your brother sober yet?” I hit back, just to spite him.
Pulling out a pen from my jacket, I scribble my name across the paperwork I never expected to sign.
But that’s life. I don’t have time to ponder the significance of the deed, because I have more important things to do today.
I stand and walk to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an important meeting in a few hours.”
I walk out of there with mixed feelings, but I focus on what I’m walking toward.
If she gets deported, we’ll move to Canada. That way we won’t burden Mia with regular overseas flights.
But that’s a huge if I’m not willing to entertain. I yawn as I step out of the elevator and into the penthouse.
The silence that greets me feels as eerie as the one I faced in Merged.
She must be sleeping still, and my exhausted mind is playing tricks. I shake off my wrinkled jacket and get to the kitchen.
Downing a double shot of espresso, I make my way upstairs. I don’t want to wake Celeste up, so I decide to take a shower in her room. Well, it’s really a guest room at this point, but she hasn’t fully vacated it yet.
She must have moved more of her things out though, because our room feels inhabited. That’s good. She’s where she should be. In my bedroom. In our bedroom.
I take a good half an hour under the pelting hot water, my muscles screaming for a good sleep. By the time I get out, the coffee kicks in enough for me to function reasonably.
I wrap the towel around my waist and pad across the hall to our bedroom. I close the door behind me with care, so I don’t wake her.
When I turn, I blink a few times. The image in front of me slowly seeps into my weary, exhausted mind. But even blinking doesn’t change the fact that our bed is empty.
It hasn’t been slept in.
A thousand scenarios rush through my mind, none of them encouraging.
I’m immediately on alert, any remnants of sleepiness evaporating. Shit. She must have been so nervous, she couldn’t sleep and probably left early.
I go text her, and realize she never responded to my message last night. I assumed she was sleeping already and forgot all about it. But it’s not like her not to acknowledge the message after she woke up.
I dial her number.
Answering machine.
I dial again.
Nothing.
I dial three more times, scrambling to quiet the uneasiness spreading through my chest. Where the hell is she?
I call Peter. “When did you drive Celeste to the ICE offices?” Jesus, she must have been so nervous and scared.
“I didn’t drive her anywhere since I brought her back home from the hospital.”
I hang up without another word and dial her again.
Nothing.
Where the fuck is she?
We haven’t been together that long. Why are you making it harder than it has to be?
She didn’t. She wouldn’t. Fuck.
I pace around our bed and call the concierge. “Did you see my wife leaving?” I bark.
“Good morning, Mr. van den Linden. I called a taxi for Mrs. van den Linden two hours ago.”
“Where did she go?”
He hesitates. “Didn’t she tell you?”
Oh, fuck the privacy .
“If you want to keep your job, you’ll tell me where she went,” I growl at him, hoping to God I won’t need to strangle him for the information.
He clears his throat, but after a beat, he makes the right decision. “She went to JFK, sir.”
I hang up and march to the bathroom. Her makeup bag is gone, and so are most of her toiletries.
Returning to the bedroom, I sink to the edge of the bed.
She fucking left me.