I shake my head, exhaling sharply. Focus, Sophia.
Taking a deep breath, I look back at the script in my hands and read my line aloud again, this time drawing out the emotion Edie encouraged me to find during our last rehearsal. She is brilliant—the kind of director who can pull a performance out of you that you didn't even know you had.
"It's not about the fight," I murmur, my voice low but steady. "It's about what you're fighting for."
The words linger in the quiet of the guest house, and I can almost hear Edie's approving nod. Perfect.
Still, I let myself smile. The final scenes before we shoot on location are coming together, and for the first time since we started filming, I can see the story taking shape. The late nights, the endless takes, the self-doubt that creeps in when the exhaustion sets in—it's all been worth it. And knowing I'm giving everything to this role, that I've poured every ounce of myself into it, fills me with a sense of pride I haven't felt in a long time.
I close the script and lean back, rubbing the tension from my neck. I turn to my camera on the table. It's my outlet, a way to distract me from the stress. Through it, I can capture raw, unpolished moments—the kind that don't need a lighting crew or a script supervisor. I have a favorite shot I once captured of an elderly couple dancing on a nearly empty Santa Monica boardwalk at sunset. Those moments, the ones no one stages or expects, are my favorite.
I pick up the camera and scroll through the shots I've taken over the last few weeks. Most are of flowers, sunsets, and the occasional selfie, but as I swipe, a candid shot of Hazel and Grant appears on the screen. They're sitting on the patio, with Hazel's head thrown back in laughter while Grant grins at her with an expression so warm it nearly steals my breath. I snapped it when neither of them noticed, and now, looking at it, I feel a lump form in my throat. There's something about their dynamic—the easy, unfiltered love between them—that feels like sunlight on my skin.
A soft knock pulls me from my thoughts, and before I can answer, Hazel pops her head through the door. "What're you doing?"
I smile. "Just looking at some photos. Wanna see?"
Hazel skips inside and climbs onto the armrest beside me. I hand her the camera and then show her how to navigate through the images. She giggles at the silly ones and points excitedly at her own photo.
"That's me!" she says, her voice bright.
"That's you," I confirm, smiling. "You have a great laugh, you know that?"
"That's what Dad says, too," Hazel replies, her tone matter-of-fact. She turns the camera back to me. "Can I take some pictures?"
I hand Hazel the strap and help her loop it around her neck. "Here, hold it like this." I show her the basics of framing and focus. Hazel snaps a picture of the couch and then one of the lamp, giggling at her newfound skill.
"You're a natural," I say, rufflingher hair.
Hazel tilts her head. "Hey, can we watchCode Crusaders?"
I freeze for a moment, my smile faltering. I haven't watched that show in years. But Hazel's eager expression makes it impossible to say no.
We settle onto the couch, with Hazel snuggled under my arm. As the familiar theme song plays, my stomach twists. I remember the late nights on set and the hours spent learning lines while other kids were at sleepovers or soccer practice. And then there was the fake relationship with my co-star.
Hazel laughs as the characters bicker on the screen, oblivious to the memories stirring in my chest. Watching myself as that bright-eyed teenager is like stepping into a time capsule—a version of me so filled with dreams yet so unaware of the harsh realities waiting around the corner.
The laughter on screen brings back the camaraderie I once felt with the cast, but now it's tainted by the sting of betrayal. It's nostalgic, yes, but also a painful reminder of how far I've had to build myself back up. That girl is so different from the woman I am now, yet somehow, the ache still lingers.
"You were really good," Hazel says, her eyes wide with admiration. "Why don't you do shows like that anymore?"
I hesitate, unsure how to explain the complexities of Hollywood to a six-year-old. "I guess I just wanted to try different things," I say carefully. "Like the movie I'm working on now."
Hazel nods as if this makes perfect sense. Then, after a pause, she looks up at me with a hopeful expression. "Are you gonna stay here forever?"
The question catches me off guard. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Forever. The idea tugs at something deep inside me, a part of me that wants to believe it could be possible. But am I even ready for something like that? I've been so careful to guard myself, to avoid the risks that come with letting someone in. And yet, being here—with Hazel, with Grant—makes me wonder if I am ready for more.
"I don't know," I say finally, brushing a strand of hair behind Hazel's ear. "What do you think?"
Hazel grins. "I think you should. Dad's happier when you're here."
My heart squeezes. "He is, huh?"
"Yeah," Hazel says, her tone so matter-of-fact it's almost funny. "And so am I."
I pull Hazel closer and press a kiss to the top of her head. "Well, I'm pretty happy being here, too."
For now, all I can do is stay in the moment and let myself wonder—just for a little while—what it might be like to believe in forever.
