Sabrina

The following day

The crisp morning air nipped at my cheeks as I made my way down the familiar path to the riverbank. The trees lining the trail were bare now, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletons. I stuffed my hands deeper into the pockets of my coat, the chill seeping through my layers.

The river was quiet, rippling gently in the breeze, and for a moment, I let myself imagine it carrying away everything heavy inside me. I'd come here so often lately, seeking something—solace, maybe. Or just an escape.

Up ahead, I saw a figure moving. The closer I got, the more familiar it became: tall, elegant, wrapped in a wool coat that probably cost more than my car. Roscoe, my mum's golden retriever, was bounding along beside her, his tail wagging like a metronome.

I hesitated for a second, thinking about doubling back, but Roscoe spotted me. He charged toward me, his ears flopping wildly as he barked a greeting.

"Hey, buddy," I said, crouching down to scratch behind his ears. His warmth was a comfort I didn't expect, and I found myself holding onto him for a little longer than usual.

"Sabrina?" Mum's voice carried over the breeze, light and lilting, just like always. She caught up to us, her heels crunching on the gravel path.

"Hi, Mum." I stood up, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "What a nice surprise. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

I shrugged, looking past her at the water. "Just needed some air."

Roscoe leaned against my leg, and I scratched his head absently. Mum tilted her head, studying me like she always did when she was trying to figure out what I wasn't saying.

"You should come by for dinner tonight," she said after a pause. "Oscar's been asking about you. And I have something I'd like to share with you."

The mention of her husband, Oscar, made my chest tighten. He was always so... perfect. The thought of sitting at their polished dining table, under their warm lights, with their curated lives—it felt suffocating. But the look in Mum's eyes stopped me from refusing.

"Sure," I said finally. "What time?"

"Around seven," she said, her smile brightening just a little. "I'll make that pasta you like."

"Okay." I patted Roscoe one last time before straightening. "See you then."

As I turned to leave, I felt her eyes lingering on me, but I didn't look back. The river stretched ahead, and I walked along its edge, the sound of the water filling the silence inside me.

Paul

The studio hummed with the low buzz of activity—technicians fiddling with soundboards, engineers checking mics, and the faint thrum of an unfinished track playing in the background. I sat in one of the leather chairs by the conference table, staring at the notepad in front of me, its pages blank except for the word *River* scrawled in Bethany's neat handwriting at the top.

"Paul," Bethany said, her voice slicing through my fog. "Earth to Paul."

I blinked and looked up. She was sitting across from me, her tablet in hand, her dark curls pulled into a loose bun. Her gaze was sharp but soft, the way only Bethany could manage when she knew I wasn't all there.

"Sorry," I muttered, leaning back in my chair and running a hand through my hair.

Bethany sighed, setting her tablet down. "Okay, let's try this again. We need to decide on the first three singles. 'River,' obviously, is the lead. It's the album title, it's got that emotional punch, and it's classic Hollow. But after that, we've got 'Anchor' and 'Falling.' Both are strong contenders, but they hit different vibes. What do you think?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came. My thoughts weren't in this room, weren't on *River* or the band or any of it. They were with Sabrina, sitting alone in her room, staring out the window like she could see something I couldn't.

"Paul?" Bethany prompted, her voice softer this time.

I shook my head, trying to clear the image. "Sorry, I just... I need a minute."

She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "What's going on? You've been off all morning."

I hesitated. Bethany had been with the band since the beginning, practically family, but even so, I wasn't sure how to put it into words.

"It's Sabrina," I finally said, my voice low.

Bethany's expression shifted immediately, her professional facade melting into concern. "Is she okay?"

"I don't know," I admitted. The words felt heavy, like they were pulling me under. "She's not herself lately. She's... distant. Barely talks to me. I don't even know what's going on in her head anymore."

Bethany was quiet for a moment, her brows furrowed. "Have you tried talking to her?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "Talking to Sabrina these days is like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall. She shuts me out. I don't know how to reach her."

She nodded slowly, her eyes scanning my face. "Maybe you don't need to reach her right now. Maybe you just need to be there, in the background, so she knows you're there when she's ready."

"I'm trying," I said, my voice breaking slightly. "But what if it's not enough? What if—" I stopped myself, unable to finish the thought.

Bethany reached across the table and placed a hand on mine. "Paul, you're doing the best you can. Sabrina's lucky to have you."

I looked away, the weight of her words pressing against my chest. Lucky? I didn't feel like she was lucky. I felt like I was failing her in every possible way.

The silence stretched between us, broken only by the faint hum of the unfinished track playing in the background. Finally, Bethany sat back, giving me space.

"Let's take a break," she said. "We can come back to this later."

I nodded, grateful, but the thought of focusing on the album felt impossible.

My mind was miles away, back at home, with Sabrina.

Sabrina

Later that afternoon

The room feels heavier than it should. The air presses down on me like it knows what I'm about to do. My curtains are half-drawn, casting shadows that crawl across the walls. My laptop sits in front of me, its screen blank except for that damn blinking cursor. It's mocking me. Like it knows I don't have the words.

Like it knows I'll fail at this, too.

I reach for the pen on my nightstand. My fingers tremble as I pick it up. It's heavier than I expected, like it's made of lead. I stare at the blank sheet of paper in front of me for what feels like an eternity, willing myself to start. I can't avoid this.

I have to do it.

I take a deep breath, my chest tight and burning, and press the pen to the paper.

---

**To Dad,**

I don't even know where to start. How do you thank someone for being your everything when you're about to leave them behind? How do you tell someone they were your hero when all you've done is hurt them? You've always been my rock, Dad. The one person who stayed. The one person who tried. But I can't keep putting you through this.

I see it in your eyes every day—how worried you are. How helpless you feel. And I hate that I'm the reason for that. I hate that I've made you feel like you're not enough, because you are. You're everything, Dad.

I just... I can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending I'll get better. Please remember me for the girl I used to be. The girl who laughed with you, who sang with you, who loved being your daughter. I love you more than I've ever been able to say. And I'm so sorry.

---

My hand shakes as I fold the letter and set it on my nightstand. Tears blur my vision, and I wipe them away, but they keep coming. I can't stop crying, but I can't stop writing, either. There's too much left to say.

I grab another sheet of paper.

---

**To Noah,**

I'm sorry. That's all I can think to say. I'm sorry. You've been so good to me—better than I deserve. You've always seen me as something more than I am, and I wish I could've been the person you thought I was. But I'm not.

You deserve someone whole, someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved. I can't be that person, Noah. I've tried, but I can't. Please don't blame yourself for this. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. This is my choice, my pain, my burden.

Thank you for loving me when I couldn't love myself. You've been my light in the dark, and I'll always carry that with me. I'll always love you.

---

The pen slips from my fingers, and I clutch the paper like it's the only thing tethering me to the world. My chest aches, my breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. I don't know if I can do this anymore. But I have to. There are two more people who need to hear from me.

---

To Mum,

I don't even know if you'll care. But I need to say this anyway. I loved you, even when it felt like you didn't love me back. I wanted so badly to be someone you were proud of. To be the daughter you could show off, the daughter you could love without conditions. But I wasn't enough, was I?

You've got Oscar now, just like you always wanted. Maybe this is for the best. Maybe now you won't have to feel burdened by me anymore.

I hope you find peace, Mum. I really do.

---

My tears smear the ink, but I don't bother fixing it. It doesn't matter. Nothing does anymore. I grab the final sheet of paper.

---

To Hannah,

You're the one person who's always been there for me. My best friend. My sister in every way that matters. You've pulled me back from the edge so many times, but this time... this time, I'm too far gone.

Please don't hate me, Han. Please don't blame yourself. You've been my lifeline, my safe space, my everything. And I'll never forget that. I'll never forget you.

Take care of yourself, okay? Find happiness. Find love. Find everything I couldn't. And if you ever miss me, look at the stars. I'll be there.

---

The last letter feels like it's ripped something out of me. My chest is hollow, but it hurts all the same. I set the letter on top of the others, staring at them like they're a monument to my pain.

For a second, I wonder if someone will find them in time. If this is my subconscious crying out for help. But then I push the thought away. No one can save me now. I don't want to be saved.

I climb onto my bed, curling up under the blankets. The letters sit on my nightstand, silent witnesses to my decision.

I close my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks. 

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel a strange sense of peace.

Paul

Early evening

The hum of my computer was the only sound in the room as I clicked through the endless emails from the label, agents, and the press. My fingers moved automatically, but my mind wasn't really on any of it. It hadn't been on anything for days, maybe weeks. I glanced at the clock on the wall—it was late in the afternoon, but it felt like time had slowed to a crawl.

I paused, my eyes drawn to the photo frame on my desk. It wasn't one I usually noticed anymore. At least, I hadn't noticed it recently. But today, I couldn't look away. The frame was small, a simple silver thing that didn't look like it belonged with the rest of the clutter on my desk, but I never moved it. Not because it was important in the way my band's tour schedule or press clippings were, but because it was a reminder. A beautiful, painful reminder.

The picture was of Sabrina and me, taken in December of 2018. It was Christmas Day, New York City. We were standing in front of a massive Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, all lit up in gold and red, the kind of image you'd see on postcards. Sabrina's face was bright with that smile I used to see every day. She was so young then, just fourteen, so full of life, her cheeks rosy from the cold. She was leaning against me, my arm around her shoulders, and we were laughing about something I couldn't even remember now. We both looked so happy. Like nothing could touch us, like everything would be okay forever.

I could still remember the feeling of that day. We'd spent hours walking around the city, Sabrina's excitement contagious, her wide-eyed wonder at everything we passed—the lights, the window displays, the snow gently falling as we walked along the streets. That day felt like it could last forever. And for the briefest of moments, I believed it would.

But now, looking at the photo, all I saw was the distance between us that had grown over the years. The walls she'd put up, the silence that filled the house when we weren't speaking. That photo was a ghost. A memory of a girl I could barely recognize anymore.

I swallowed hard, the ache in my chest growing, as I stared at that picture. The weight of it was unbearable. I missed her laugh. I missed the way she used to come to me with her problems, the way we'd spend hours talking about anything and everything. The Sabrina I had in that photo was the Sabrina I thought I knew, the girl who still believed she was invincible. And now? Now, she was a stranger to me.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my hand over my face. The email I'd been reading moments ago was still open, but I couldn't focus on it. None of it mattered. Not the next album, not the tour, not the press. It all felt irrelevant. Sabrina was slipping through my fingers, and I was powerless to stop it.

I remembered the last time we'd had a real conversation—before everything had spiraled. I had tried to talk to her. To tell her that I was here, that I loved her no matter what, but she had just nodded, her eyes distant, like she was hearing me but not really listening. It was the same response I'd gotten from her every time. Distant. Empty. I wanted to break through, but I didn't know how.

I wanted the old Sabrina back. The one I could joke with, the one who danced around the house singing her favorite songs. The one who used to sneak into my studio when I was writing, always asking if she could join in, always so eager to be a part of it all.

Now I had nothing. No more late-night talks, no more impromptu song sessions, no more spontaneous hugs. The emptiness in the house was deafening.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through a few photos. A few recent ones of her—half smiles, half attempts to appear fine, but I could see it in her eyes. I could always see it. The sadness she carried, the weight of something she couldn't put into words. And yet, she never let me in.

I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't know how to reach her anymore.

I sighed and set the photo back down, my finger lingering on the edge of the frame. I could still hear her voice in my head, the way she used to call for me when she needed help or just wanted to talk. And I wanted to hear it again. I wanted to fix this. I wanted to save her from whatever darkness had settled in her heart. But I couldn't. I couldn't even save myself from the crushing feeling of losing her piece by piece.

The thought of never hearing her laugh again, of never seeing her smile like that... it made it hard to breathe.

"God," I whispered to myself, my voice breaking slightly. "Please, Sabrina... come back to me."

But I wasn't sure if she could. Or if she wanted to.

The phone buzzed in my hand, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the screen—another email from the label. But it was nothing important. Nothing that mattered. I tossed it aside and stared at the picture once more. The girl I had lost—at least in the way that mattered—was staring back at me, smiling with that innocence I could never get back.

And all I could do was hope that one day, maybe, she'd find her way back to me.

Sabrina

Around 6:30pm

The air in the car felt suffocating as I drove through the familiar streets toward my mom's house. I wasn't sure why I'd agreed to this dinner with Elodie and Oscar. Honestly, I was dreading it. It wasn't that I didn't love them, but things had been different lately. The tension was always there, just beneath the surface, simmering. I didn't want to deal with whatever weirdness was hanging in the air.

As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed the house was quiet. I grabbed my bag and stepped out of the car, the cold evening air biting at my skin. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my hoodie and walked up to the front door, half-expecting my stepdad, Oscar, to answer. He always had a way of being the first one to greet me. But tonight, there was a stillness in the house that made me uneasy.

When I opened the door, I was hit with the familiar scent of home—spices, a little bit of rosemary, and the warmth of a home-cooked meal. It was comforting, but also suffocating. I stepped inside and was greeted by Elodie, smiling as she wiped her hands on a dish towel.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said softly, stepping forward to give me a quick hug. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Great," I muttered, forcing a smile as I glanced toward the kitchen. Oscar was standing by the stove, stirring something in a pan. He turned as he heard me.

"Sabrina, it's good to see you," he said, his voice deep but warm. "You hungry?"

"Yeah, sure," I replied, trying to sound less irritated than I felt. The truth was, I hadn't been in the mood for any of this. Not tonight. Not when everything felt so... wrong.

Elodie led me to the dining room, where the table was set. It looked inviting, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting a warm golden hue across the place settings. The meal was already laid out—roast chicken, vegetables, mashed potatoes. It all looked perfect, but it felt off to me. I pulled out the chair and sat down without saying much.

We ate in silence for a while, the clinking of silverware against plates the only sound in the room. It wasn't unusual for us to be quiet at dinner. There was always some kind of awkwardness between me and my mom since she'd remarried Oscar. It was hard to explain. I just didn't feel the same connection with her that I used to, and it stung every time I was reminded of it.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of uncomfortable silence, Elodie cleared her throat. "I have something to tell you," she said, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. She glanced at Oscar, who gave her a small encouraging smile.

I looked up, surprised. "What is it?"

Elodie's hands fidgeted with the napkin on her lap, and I could see the way her eyes kept darting to Oscar before settling back on me. "Oscar and I... we're expecting," she said, her voice shaking slightly with the weight of her words.

Expecting? My mind raced, but my heart dropped into my stomach. I stared at her, trying to process what she was saying.

Oscar beamed, his eyes full of that gentle pride he always had when he talked about their life together. "We're having a baby. It's—well, it's a big deal."

I couldn't breathe. The words felt like a slap in the face, and I was trying to get my thoughts together, but nothing made sense. A baby? She was pregnant? I thought I had been imagining things when I'd seen her last week with a little more weight in her face. But hearing it, hearing her say it... it felt like my whole world was shaking.

"Wait," I finally said, my voice coming out hoarse. "What do you mean, you're pregnant?"

Elodie's expression softened, like she was preparing for the fallout. "Oscar and I have been trying for a while now, and we're finally—"

I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. "You're kidding, right? This isn't funny. I can't—" My throat constricted as the words died in my mouth.

"Sab—" Oscar started, his voice gentle but firm.

"No, no, you don't get it. This is not okay," I snapped, my pulse racing. The anger I had been keeping buried deep inside me for so long came rushing to the surface. "You and Oscar are going to have a kid, and I'm supposed to be okay with that? What am I, a second thought?"

Elodie's face crumbled, and I could see the hurt flash across her features. She hadn't been prepared for this reaction, I could tell. Oscar stood up too, trying to calm the tension in the room, but I could barely see him through the haze of my own emotions.

"Sweetheart, please," Elodie pleaded. "I know this is a lot to process—"

"A lot?!" I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the air. "You're pregnant, and all I am is the leftover child? I'm still your daughter. But I guess that doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

The words felt like poison coming out of my mouth. I could see the tears in her eyes, and they made me feel even more detached from everything. But the anger kept bubbling up, and I couldn't stop it. "You're having a baby with him, but I'm not part of that family anymore. I'm not even your priority. You never asked me if this was okay, did you? It's like you've forgotten all about me."

"I haven't forgotten you, Sabrina," Elodie whispered, her voice breaking.

I shook my head, turning away from them, my heart pounding in my chest. "No. You don't get it. I'm not just going to stand here and pretend like this is fine. I can't. Not when everything's already falling apart."

Oscar tried again, his voice low but calm. "Sabrina, please, we didn't want to hurt you. We just—"

"No," I interrupted, my breath coming faster now, my hands trembling. "You don't get to just throw me aside because you're having a baby. You don't get to do that."

With that, I stormed out of the room, ignoring their calls to stop. I felt like I was suffocating, my whole body tight with rage, with sadness, with confusion. My mom and Oscar's announcement had opened a wound I didn't know was there, and it hurt more than anything I'd ever felt. This wasn't just about their new baby. This was about how I felt forgotten, replaced, and utterly alone.

I could hear Elodie calling my name from behind me as I slammed the door behind me, but I didn't care.

I didn't care anymore.

I couldn't hear anything anymore, other than my impending end.

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A/N: And the third chapter is here - what are our thoughts?