Years Ago
Maureen used to trail behind Celeste like a shadow.
Wherever Celeste went, people followed—teachers, neighbors, boys, even Maureen's own mother. Celeste didn't mean to outshine her; she simply did. With her easy charm, her perfect smile, her ability to walk into a room and steal every eye without trying.
"You two are like twins," people always said.
But they never meant it.
They meant Celeste was the sun.
And Maureen? Just the girl lucky enough to orbit her.
Present – Maureen's Apartment
She lit a candle.
Not for scent. For silence.
Flame flickering, she leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling, remembering how her life had shifted the day Celeste vanished.
She'd cried. Of course. She was expected to.
And then… quietly, carefully… she stepped forward.
She started wearing Celeste's favorite shade of gloss. Took over her spot at youth events. Sat beside her parents, comforting them. Ran small errands for the gallery. Everyone was too heartbroken to notice how easily Maureen filled the void.
She was helpful. Supportive.
Available.
And finally—seen.
Flashback – Months Ago
The news spread like wildfire.
Celeste had been found.
Maureen sat in the garden when her mother burst outside, phone in hand, joy spilling from her eyes.
"She's alive. She's back. Can you believe it?"
Maureen smiled too wide. "Oh my God. That's… wow."
She waited till dusk before posting a vague story about not feeling well. She told people she'd been offline all weekend. That she'd been sick. "So sorry," she said, again and again. "I didn't even know she was back."
She showed up the next morning with soup.
Tears in her eyes.
A hug too long.
"Celeste… I missed you so much."
And no one questioned her. Why would they?
She'd always been the best friend.
Present
But that shine she'd stolen? It was fading.
Celeste was reclaiming her place. Her parents' attention. Her position. Even Leon, the brooding mystery Maureen could never charm—his eyes only followed Celeste.
And Maureen felt it—like sand slipping through her fingers.
"She doesn't even remember what I did," she said aloud, brushing invisible lint from her lap.
"And I won't let her remember what it feels like to win."