Harper passed behind her, slowing just enough to glance at the screen. “You okay?”
Jamie nodded. “Fine.”
“You sure? Because you sound like someone who’s reading a grocery list.”
Jamie forced a smile. “Long week.”
Harper studied her for a second, then softened. “Get some sleep, okay?”
“Yeah.”
After the show wrapped, she stayed behind. Most of the lights were off now, leaving the newsroom washed in the blue of the monitors. She scrolled through b-roll that didn’t need fixing, shuffled clips, adjusted audio levels that were already fine. Anything to keep her hands moving.
She’d thought work would save her. That if she kept moving, kept writing, she’d stop feeling like she’d left something vital behind. But everything she touched sounded hollow.
The clock above the edit bay ticked louder than usual. She wondered if anyone else could hear it.
Her inbox pinged with a new message:Boston PD Media Update – Calhoun.
Her stomach turned before she even opened it. She told herself it was routine, just another release, but the second she saw Erin’s name, her fingers froze.
She clicked it open. The statement was short, all business, the same clipped phrasing Erin always used. But it wasn’t the words that broke her. It was the photo attached.
A new headshot. Erin at a podium. Hair tucked neatly behind her ear, uniform pressed. The look on her face was composed, professional. Like nothing had happened.
Jamie stared at it until her eyes burned.
She thought of the last time she’d seen her—the way Erin had said “Go home, Jamie,” like the words themselves hurt to speak. She wondered if she’d meant it or if she’d just needed to make Jamie leave first.
The ache started in her chest and worked its way up her throat. She triedto blink it away, but it didn’t move.
Her cursor hovered over the photo. She shouldn’t have saved it. She did anyway.
She minimized the window, but it didn’t help. She could still see it when she closed her eyes. Erin, steady and calm, back where she belonged, while Jamie sat here unraveling.
When Harper came back through the bullpen, she stopped beside Jamie’s desk. “Hey,” she said softly. “Your piece today got flagged. Henry said it felt off.”
Jamie swallowed. “Off how?”
“He said it didn’t sound like you.”
Jamie looked at her monitor, the blank document blinking in front of her. “Yeah,” she said. “He’s right.”
She waited for Harper to leave before she closed everything out. The empty desktop reflected in the glass felt like a mirror.
She sat there for a long time, the room thinning around her. Every achievement she’d worked for—the transfer to Boston, the chance to prove herself, the new stories she’d been proud of—felt distant now. Like it belonged to someone else.
She used to believe in truth like it was something solid, something she could hold. Now it just felt like a weapon she’d turned on herself.
* * *
By the time she walked out, the air outside had gone cool. The parking lot lights buzzed overhead, throwing her shadow long across the pavement.
On the drive home she rolled the window down, hoping the air would shake something loose. The city lights blurred past, too fast, too bright.
When she pulled into her spot, she didn’t get out right away. The photo of Erin was still sitting in her downloads folder, a single thumbnail glowing in the dark corner of her screen.
She should delete it.
