Paul

Three days later

I sat across from Sabrina at the kitchen table, staring at the steam rising from my coffee. The silence between us was thick, almost suffocating. I tried to focus on the warm mug in my hands, but all I could think about was the way she barely touched her breakfast, poking at her toast like it was some foreign object she didn't know how to deal with.

She'd barely looked up when I walked in, her focus entirely on the plate in front of her. Sabrina used to be so full of energy—so eager to talk, to share her day with me, to joke around. Now? It was like she was a different person entirely. Every day it seemed like there was more space between us, more walls that kept rising higher, and I didn't know how to tear them down.

I cleared my throat, trying to get her attention. "You okay?"

She didn't look at me. Just picked at her toast, tearing off little pieces. Her shoulders were tense. I could feel the wall in her body language, the one she put up whenever I tried to approach.

"I'm fine," she muttered, not meeting my eyes.

I knew it wasn't true. Sabrina had been different lately—distant, withdrawn. I had tried to talk to her, tried to break through the distance, but every time I reached out, she pulled back further. It was like she was somewhere else, living in a world I couldn't reach, a place where I didn't belong.

I swallowed my frustration and tried again, softer this time. "We're meeting with Stephen and Madonna later, right? I was thinking we could grab lunch, all of us. It's been a while since we all hung out together."

She didn't even flinch at the mention of lunch. It was like I hadn't said anything at all. She just kept picking at her toast, her eyes not leaving the plate.

"Sure," she said, barely a whisper. But it wasn't like a yes—it felt like a concession. Like she was just humoring me, not actually agreeing.

I could feel the knot tightening in my stomach, that familiar tightness that had been there for months now. I could feel the distance between us growing wider by the day. She was slipping away from me, and I couldn't figure out how to stop it.

I tried to keep my voice calm, to mask the worry that had settled deep in my chest. "Sabrina... we've gotta talk, you know? You can't just bottle all this up. If something's wrong—if you need help—"

She cut me off, the flatness of her tone cutting through the air like a knife. "Don't worry about it, Dad. I'm fine."

But it was obvious to me that she wasn't. Nothing about her was fine. She wasn't eating right, she wasn't sleeping well, and most days, it felt like she was living in some other world that I couldn't reach.

I wanted to ask more, to demand that she let me in, to force her to open up. But I knew it wouldn't do any good. I could see the resistance in her eyes, the way her jaw tightened, the way she shut me out with every word, every gesture.

She pushed back her chair and stood up quickly, not even looking at me as she grabbed her empty plate. "I'll be in my room," she said, the words coming out cold, distant.

I wanted to say something, anything to stop her, to hold her back before she disappeared into that room, that place where she seemed to hide herself away from the world, from me. But I couldn't find the words.

I watched her leave, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the hallway. The door clicked behind her, and I was left sitting there, staring at the remnants of her breakfast and the empty space across from me. The silence that followed felt suffocating, like it was closing in on me.

I felt so helpless.

So lost.

I didn't know how to reach her anymore.

I didn't know how to fix what had broken between us.

I wanted to make it better.

But how?

How could I fix something when I couldn't even understand what was wrong?

I sat there, motionless, the weight of her absence pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.

The house felt too quiet.

Without her laughter, without her energy, it felt hollow.

Empty.

And I didn't know how to bring her back.

Sabrina

Later that morning

The café was warm and smelled faintly of cinnamon, but I barely noticed. My fingers wrapped around a chai latte I hadn't touched, the steam curling up into the air like ghosts. I sat by the window, letting my gaze wander over the bustling street outside. People walked by with purpose, their lives seemingly whole and unbroken.

Across from me, Noah shifted in his seat. I could feel his eyes on me, searching for something I wasn't sure I could give him.

"You've barely said a word," he said finally, his voice soft, careful. He always sounded like he was afraid one wrong move would shatter me.

I glanced up at him, his familiar brown eyes filled with concern. The boy I'd once laughed with for hours now just made my chest ache. "I'm tired," I murmured, knowing the words wouldn't satisfy him.

"Tired?" he echoed, leaning forward so his elbows rested on the table. "Or something more?"

I hated how well he knew me. I hated the way his gaze pinned me in place, how he could see through the cracks I tried to cover.

"Why does it always have to be something more, Noah?" My voice came out sharper than I intended, and the flicker of hurt in his eyes made me instantly regret it.

"Because I love you," he said, his voice steady despite my sharpness. "And I can see you're hurting, even if you won't say it."

I looked down at the untouched drink in front of me, tracing the edge of the cup with my finger. "I don't need to be saved," I whispered, more to myself than to him.

He reached across the table, his hand hovering near mine, but he didn't touch me. "I'm not trying to save you, Sabrina. I just want to help."

"Maybe I don't want help," I shot back, pulling my hand away and crossing my arms over my chest. "Maybe this is just who I am now."

"No." His voice was firm, and I finally looked up to see the determination etched into his face. "This isn't you. This is... something you're going through. And I'm not going anywhere."

I clenched my jaw, swallowing the lump in my throat. "You don't understand," I said, my voice breaking.

"Then help me understand," he pleaded.

"I can't," I said, shaking my head. The weight of everything—the sadness, the emptiness, the constant ache—pressed down on me like a physical force. "I just can't."

Noah leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his dark hair. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept in days, and I knew I was the reason why. "Sabrina, I'm scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared I'm going to lose you."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I wanted to reassure him, to tell him I was fine, that everything would be okay. But I couldn't.

"I'm sorry," I said instead, the words hollow and meaningless.

He reached out again, this time letting his hand rest on mine. His touch was warm, grounding, but it didn't reach the cold, hollow place inside me. "Don't apologize," he said. "Just... let me in. Please."

I looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment I almost believed that maybe, just maybe, he could help. But then the weight of my thoughts came crashing back down, and I knew it was too much.

"I can't do this right now," I said, pulling my hand away and standing up.

Noah stood too, his eyes wide with worry. "Sabrina, wait—"

"I need to go," I said, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

He didn't stop me as I walked out of the café, but I could feel his eyes on me, heavy with all the things he wanted to say but didn't.

As I stepped out onto the street, the cold air hit my face, and I took a deep breath. My chest felt tight, like it was bound in chains, and I knew I couldn't keep doing this.

Not to him.

Not to myself.

Paul

Around midday

The jazz music swirled softly in the background, the kind of tune that should've been calming, but my chest was tight, and my salmon sat untouched in front of me. I pushed an asparagus spear back and forth across the plate, barely listening to Madonna's chatter about some show she'd seen last week. My mind was stuck, circling around the same worry that had been eating at me for weeks now.

"You're a million miles away, Paul." Madonna's voice pulled me back. She tilted her head, her green eyes narrowing as she studied me.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my temples. "Sorry, I'm just... distracted."

Stephen, sitting to my right, folded his arms. "You've been 'distracted' for a while now. What's going on?" His voice was calm but firm, the way it always was when he knew I needed to get something off my chest.

I hesitated. Talking about Sabrina, especially lately, always felt like walking a tightrope. But these two—they were my siblings, my anchors. If I couldn't talk to them, who could I talk to?

"It's Sabrina," I finally said, my voice lower than I intended. Just saying her name felt heavy. "I'm worried about her. Really worried."

Madonna set her tea down, her face softening. "What do you mean? What's going on with her?"

"She's not herself," I admitted. "She's barely eating, she doesn't talk to me, she's just... shutting down. I look at her, and it's like she's fading right in front of me."

Madonna's hand covered mine briefly, a comforting gesture that I barely felt. "Have you tried asking her what's wrong?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "Of course I have. She just says she's fine. Gets defensive if I push even a little. And the way she looks at me sometimes, it's like she's daring me to figure it out, but won't let me get close enough to try." I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. "I don't know what to do anymore."

Stephen leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "Has she seen anyone? A therapist, a doctor?"

"She won't go," I said flatly. "Refuses every time I bring it up. She just shuts the conversation down completely. I'm afraid if I push harder, I'll lose what little ground I have left."

"She's so thin, Stephen," I continued, my voice cracking slightly. "It scares the hell out of me. I don't even recognize her some days."

Madonna shook her head, her brows knitted with worry. "Maybe her mum could try? Elodie might be able to talk to her in a way you can't."

"Elodie," I scoffed, sitting back in my chair. "Sure, she loves Sabrina, but she's busy with her new life and her new baby on the way. Sabrina's not her priority anymore, and she knows it. And Oscar? Forget it. He probably wouldn't notice if the house was on fire."

A heavy silence fell between us. The waiter came by to refill our water glasses, and I barely acknowledged him.

"You're not alone in this," Stephen said after a while. "We're here, Paul. Whatever it takes, we'll help."

"I appreciate that," I muttered, though the words felt hollow. The truth was, I didn't know if anything could fix this.

Madonna straightened up, her voice suddenly firm. "Paul, listen to me. You haven't failed her. You're a good dad, and Sabrina knows that. You've always been there for her, and she's going to need you more than ever right now. Don't give up on her."

"Giving up isn't an option," I said quietly, though the weight of my fear felt suffocating.

Stephen raised his glass, a rare but determined smile on his face. "To Sabrina," he said simply.

I hesitated before lifting my glass. "To Sabrina," I echoed, though my voice was heavier than theirs. As we clinked glasses, I prayed silently.

Whatever it takes, I thought.

I just have to find a way to save her.

Sabrina

Early that Evening

The glow of my laptop screen was the only light in my room. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the night, and the familiar mess of half-written lyrics and discarded drafts covered my desk like a storm had passed through. I sat cross-legged on my bed, my guitar resting against my thigh as my fingers absently plucked at the strings.

It wasn't music—just noise.

The notification chime startled me, and I glanced at my phone. *Hannah calling*. For a split second, I considered ignoring it, letting it ring out. But she'd just call again, and knowing her, she wouldn't stop until I picked up.

With a sigh, I tapped the green button, propping my phone against my pillow. Hannah's face appeared, smiling brightly, though her expression faltered as she looked at me.

"You look exhausted," she said bluntly, pushing her curly hair out of her face. "Have you slept at all?"

"Hello to you too," I muttered, leaning back against the headboard. "And no, not really. I've been working on a song."

Her brow furrowed. "Another one? Sabrina, you're killing yourself with this. Maybe take a break?"

I laughed bitterly, the sound too sharp in the quiet of my room. "Take a break from what? My own brain? That'd be nice."

"Sabs..." Her tone softened, but the concern in her eyes didn't. "What's going on? You've been like this for weeks. It's not just the songs. You're... different."

I picked up the guitar again, strumming a soft, melancholic tune to avoid her gaze. "I'm fine, Hannah. Just tired, that's all."

"That's not fine," she shot back. "You don't eat, you barely sleep, and when was the last time you actually laughed? Like really laughed?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I mumbled, "I'm working on something called *Featherfall*. Want to hear it?"

Hannah sighed but nodded. "Of course. Go ahead."

I adjusted the phone so she could see me better, then shifted the guitar on my lap. The melody was slow and haunting, each note hanging in the air like a whisper. I closed my eyes as I sang softly:

*"Drift away, oh featherfall,

A silent plea, a curtain call.

Weightless wings, they're torn, they're frail,

A quiet hope in the fiercest gale."*

I opened my eyes to see Hannah staring at me, her face unreadable. "That's beautiful," she said after a long pause. "But, Sabrina... it's also kind of heartbreaking."

"It's supposed to be," I said simply, setting the guitar down.

Hannah leaned closer to the camera, her expression serious now. "Sabrina, tell me the truth. Are you okay? Really?"

Her question hit me like a punch to the gut. I wanted to lie, to say something reassuring, but the words wouldn't come. My throat tightened, and my eyes stung with unshed tears.

"I'm just tired, Han," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Her face crumpled, and for a moment, I thought she might cry too. "You don't have to do this alone, you know. I'm here. Always."

I nodded, even though her words felt like they were coming from a thousand miles away.

"I know," I said. But deep down, I wasn't sure I believed it.

"Promise me you'll talk to someone," she pressed. "Not just me—someone who can help."

"I'll think about it," I said, which was as much of a promise as I could make.

Hannah didn't look satisfied, but she let it go. "Okay. Well, I love you, Sabrina. Please remember that."

"I love you too," I murmured, though the words felt heavy on my tongue.

After we hung up, I sat in the silence, staring at the unfinished lyrics scattered around me.

*"Drift away, oh featherfall..."*

The words echoed in my mind, haunting and final.

Paul

Later that evening

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft tapping of my fingers on the laptop keys. The overhead light cast a warm glow, but it felt cold in here—like the energy in the house had been drained. I stared at the email draft I'd been reworking for twenty minutes, trying to focus, but my thoughts kept wandering upstairs. To her.

Sabrina.

The sound of the staircase creaking snapped me out of it. I glanced up, and there she was, shuffling into the kitchen in an oversized hoodie and socks, her hair messy like she'd just rolled out of bed.

"Hey," I said, keeping my voice light.

She didn't look at me, heading straight to the fridge. "Hey," she mumbled, her voice low.

I watched as she grabbed a bottle of water, her movements slow and deliberate. She looked so small, so... fragile. My heart twisted.

"You hungry?" I asked, hoping for a chance to connect. "I could make you something. Toast? Scrambled eggs?"

"No, thanks." She didn't even turn around.

I closed the laptop and leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms. "You've barely eaten today, Sab. Just... let me fix you something."

She twisted the cap off the bottle and took a sip, finally glancing at me. Her eyes were shadowed, tired, like she hadn't slept in days. "I'm fine, Dad."

"You're not," I said before I could stop myself.

Her expression hardened, and I saw the wall go up—the same one I'd been trying to break through for weeks. She leaned against the counter, clutching the water bottle like it was some kind of shield.

"I'm fine," she repeated, her tone sharper this time.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Sabrina... I don't know how to reach you anymore. You're shutting me out, and I don't know what to do."

She looked away, her jaw tightening. "I'm not shutting you out. I just... I'm tired, okay? I don't want to talk."

"You're always tired," I said, my voice cracking despite my best effort to stay calm. "And I get it—life's a lot right now. But you don't have to carry it all on your own. You know that, right?"

She didn't answer, just stared at the floor.

"Sab," I tried again, my voice softer now, "I'm scared for you. I see how much you're struggling, and it's killing me that I can't help."

Her head snapped up, and for a moment, there was something raw in her eyes. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a mask of indifference.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, without another word, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving me sitting there in the heavy silence.

I stared at the doorway for a long time after she left, my chest aching with everything unsaid.

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A/N: And the second chapter has arrived: what are our thoughts ♥️