Vancouver was exactly what I needed. I traded my usual gritty survival roles for something completely different—a romantic comedy, of all things—spending my days indesigner sundresses, fumbling through meet-cutes, and learning how to make my character's coffee shop disasters look endearing instead of tragic.
Even my temporary apartment felt like stepping into another life, with its view of mountains instead of city lights. I threw myself into the role, into cast dinners, into becoming someone whose biggest worry was choosing between two perfect men, not lying awake at night wondering why the real one stopped calling.
"The dailies coming in from Vancouver look incredible," Blair says as we gather our things in the hallway.
Walking through the familiar corridors of Wonderland Studios' post-production building makes my stomach flutter, but I push the feeling aside. It's ridiculous to be nervous. The executive offices are in an entirely different building, and Grant is probably buried in meetings, anyway. He always is…was.
"It was good to focus on work." I check my phone, a habit I can't seem to break, though I've stopped expecting Grant's name to appear weeks ago. The ache is still there, sharp and constant as a bruise. Throwing myself into a lighthearted role helped during the day, but nights were different. Nights meant remembering all the little moments that felt like we were building something real until they just…stopped.
But life goes on. And now, gathering my purse and script pages, I feel steadier than I have in months. I haven't healed—not even close—but I'm surviving. Working. Moving forward, even if part of me is still stuck in the silence of those last few texts, waiting for an explanation that never came.
The elevator dings at the end of the hall, and I freezemid-reach. The sound booth suddenly feels very small, very exposed. This is ridiculous. This whole building is full of actors doing post-production work. The chances of Grant walking through the doors are impossible.
Relief and sadness wash over me as Wyatt strides in. His face lights up at the sight of Blair. "There you are. I was hoping to catch you before my next meeting."
I watch the casual way Blair melts into Wyatt's side, the soft kiss he drops on her temple, and the wordless communication in their shared glance. The sight hits me like a physical ache, and I have to look away. I'm mad at myself for thinking I could have that. I knew better.
"Lunch tomorrow?" Wyatt asks me as his hand absently plays with Blair's hair.
"Can't. Meeting with Edie. But dinner?"
"Perfect."
I haven't even been home for two days, and already, the studio lot feels like a minefield of memories I've been trying to bury. Every corner holds an echo of Grant and the stolen moments between takes.
"Earth to Sophia?" Blair's voice pulls me back.
"Sorry. Just…thinking."
She nods with a knowing look.
We head back down the elevator with Wyatt and say goodbye before he heads off to his next meeting. When we turn to make our way across the lot toward the parking structure, a familiar voice cuts through the afternoon quiet. "Sophia!"
My heart lurches before my brain can catch up. I turnjust in time to brace myself as Hazel crashes into me, all gangly limbs and endless energy. "You're back!"
"Hey, nugget." My heart squeezes as I hug her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo. "Look at you—did you grow?"
"A whole inch! And I started taking guitar lessons because I'm definitely going to audition for the play in second grade, and…" Hazel barely pauses for breath. "Are you coming back to the house? Dad's been weird since you left. He pretends he's fine, but he keeps making too much coffee in the morning like he forgets your not there."
Her casual observation feels like a knife between my ribs. "I've been pretty busy with work…"
"But you're done with Vancouver now, right? AndSurvivoris almost finished?" Hope shines in her eyes. "Maybe you could come over for dinner? Like old times?"
I catch Blair's sympathetic glance. "I don't know if that's…"
"Please? Dad's really lonely. He doesn't say it, but I can tell. He sits in his office, looking at old pictures, when he thinks I'm not paying attention."
"Hazel…" I kneel to meet her eyes, trying to ignore how much they remind me of Grant's. "It's complicated."
"That's what Dad always says." Hazel's expression turns serious. "But it's not, really. You miss us, and we miss you. The rest is just grown-up stuff you're both being stupid about."
A startled laugh escapes me. "When did you get so wise?"
"Mom says I get it from her." Hazel hugs me again. "Promise you'll think about it?"
"I promise to find time to see you soon." It's the safest thing I can offer. "Maybe we can get ice cream or something."
"Ok." Hazel's smile dims slightly. "But think about dinner, too? Dad's cooking got really bad again after you left."
