The glow from her laptop lit Maureen's face in ghostly blues and whites. Tabs open. Articles half-read. Social pages pulled up. Old photos zoomed in too close.
She'd been at this for weeks.
Searching.
Staring.
Trying to find something—anything—that would prove the girl parading around as Celeste wasn't really her.
But all she had were loose threads.
And no scissors sharp enough to cut through them.
Celeste's old Instagram? Still private. No recent uploads. The tagged photos? The ones with Leon? Maureen had stared at one in particular for too long—Celeste laughing in the background of a party Maureen hadn't been invited to.
The new Celeste looked exactly the same. Smiled the same. Laughed the same.
So why didn't it feel the same?
Why did Maureen feel like she was going crazy?
She tried searching for hospital records. Disappearance articles. But the girl had been "found," and no one was questioning it. Not the police. Not the parents. Not even Leon.
They were all acting like nothing was off.
Maybe they were right.
Maybe she was just bitter.
Resentful that Celeste came back and slipped into her life like she never left. Stealing back the attention. The softness. The pity. The love.
And Maureen was back to being invisible again.
"Maybe it's me," she muttered, slamming the laptop shut. "Maybe I'm the problem."
She rubbed her hands over her face, digging her nails into her scalp. "I want something to be off. That's why I'm seeing it."
She stood up and paced, her thoughts swirling.
"Because if she's fine… if she's really Celeste… then what does that make me?"
Just the girl who was left behind.
Again.