My throat tightens.
I know the routine by heart — Sierra sings softly, brushes Karla’s dark hair away from her forehead, kisses her goodnight. Sometimes Karla asks for me, and sometimes Sierra lets her. Sometimes she doesn’t.
I should go in.
I should at least kiss my daughter goodnight.
But tonight… tonight my chest feels too heavy, my legs too leaden.
Because tonight, as I scrolled through the TV channels, Brittany’s face flashed across the screen.
There she was — effortless, untouchable, a goddess in a silver gown on some Paris runway, the crowd roaring, cameras flashing, her smile cool and composed.
And I felt it.
That brutal punch to the gut.
That reminder of everything I lost.
“Britt…” I whisper under my breath, fingers curling around the glass so tightly I swear it’s going to shatter.
“Did you say something?” Sierra’s voice floats in from the hallway.
I look up sharply. “No.” My voice is hoarse. “Nothing.”
She stands in the doorway, arms folded over her robe, blonde hair falling over her shoulder. She’s tired — I can see it in the slump of her posture, the fine lines starting to etch around her eyes. We’re both tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of co-existing.
Tired of the silence.
“Ace,” she says quietly, “are you coming to bed?”
I let out a humorless laugh, down the rest of my drink, and push to my feet. “In a minute.”
She watches me, something flickering in her eyes — frustration, maybe. Or maybe just resignation. It’s been five years. She knows better than to expect warmth from me now.
“Don’t stay up all night,” she murmurs, turning away. “You promised Karla you’d take her to the park tomorrow.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
I run a hand through my hair, pacing the length of the room, my skin crawling.
Brittany.
Her name is a prayer on my lips every damn night.
Where are you, baby?
Do you hate me as much as I hate myself?
I grab the remote, rewind the recording, and there she is again — on the screen, smiling, radiant, untouchable. She moved on. She became everything I always told her she could be — fierce, magnetic, unstoppable.
But she disappeared.
No address. No calls. No texts. No social media — at least nothing public.
I can’t ask Jasper.
I can’t ask Corine.
