Chapter 16: The Day I Finally Chose Myself

Six months passed.

New York stopped feeling like a place I had moved to and started feeling like home.

I knew which coffee shop opened earliest.

I knew which subway entrance was fastest when I was running late.

I had a favorite table in my office cafeteria.

I had friends who knew nothing about Matteo.

And somehow, that mattered more than I expected.

They knew me as Celeste.

Not Matteo's fiancée.

Not the woman who had waited twelve years.

Just me.

One Friday evening, my manager called me into her office.

I expected another problem with the project.

Instead, she handed me a folder.

“You've been promoted again.”

For a moment, I simply stared at her.

“Are you serious?”

She laughed.

“Very.”

I walked out of the office with the folder pressed against my chest.

I wanted to laugh.

I wanted to cry.

Instead, I stepped outside and let the cold wind hit my face.

A year ago, I had been standing outside a door with two World Cup tickets in my hand.

I had believed my life was ending.

Now I was standing in the middle of New York with an entire future waiting for me.

My phone buzzed.

For a second, my heart still reacted before my mind did.

It was a message from Matteo.

“I heard about your promotion. I'm proud of you.”

I read it twice.

Then I smiled.

Not because I wanted him back.

Because once upon a time, those were the words I had desperately wanted to hear.

I typed a reply.

“Thank you, Matteo. I hope you're doing well.”

I stared at the screen.

Then I put my phone away.

That was enough.

I didn't need another conversation.

I didn't need an apology.

I didn't need him to finally understand everything he had lost.

I had already understood something much more important.

I had lost twelve years.

But I had not lost myself.

That weekend, I went shopping for furniture.

My apartment still looked temporary in places.

There were boxes I hadn't opened and walls that were still completely bare.

I bought a small bookshelf.

A ridiculous plant I knew I would probably forget to water.

And a framed picture for my bedroom.

It wasn't a picture of Matteo.

It wasn't even a picture of my old life.

It was a photograph of New York at sunrise.

I placed it beside my bed.

Then I stood there for a while, looking at it.

The city outside was loud and restless.

But inside my apartment, everything felt quiet.

For the first time in years, quiet didn't scare me.

It felt like peace.

That night, I opened the drawer where I had kept the old World Cup photograph Matteo had returned to me.

I looked at it one last time.

We were young in that picture.

Eighteen years old.

Smiling like we had all the time in the world.

I didn't hate the girl in that photograph anymore.

She had loved someone with everything she had.

She had believed promises.

She had waited.

She had forgiven.

She had finally learned when to stop.

I placed the photograph back in the drawer.

I didn't throw it away.

Some memories didn't need to be destroyed.

They only needed to stop being in charge.

The next morning, I woke up before my alarm.

Sunlight filled the room.

I made coffee, opened the window, and listened to the city waking up.

My phone stayed silent.

And for once, I didn't care.

I wasn't waiting for Matteo.

I wasn't waiting for an apology.

I wasn't waiting for someone to choose me.

I had finally chosen myself.

And that choice felt better than any ticket, promise, or wedding ever could.