The one I swore I’d never sing again.
My fingers move before I realize it, the notes spilling out in a quiet rhythm.It was the first song we wrote together, back when everything felt simple.Her with the lyrics, me with the melody.Back when I didn’t know how much damage I was capable of doing.The music carries memories I’ve spent years trying to overcome.And yet, it’s the one song I can’t seem to forget.
The notes drift through the air, soft and familiar, and for a moment, I forget where I am.It’s become a part of what I’m known for and it’s burned into my fingers—into the part of me that refuses to let go.
It’s not until her voice slices through the haze that I realize I’m not alone.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
I look up, startled.Anna’s standing in the doorway, her expression a mix of fury and something else—something raw and unguarded.
“What?”I ask, setting the guitar down carefully, like it’s a bomb about to go off.
“One night.You can’t even goonefucking night,” she snaps, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.“Donotplay that song.”
“Anna, I didn’t?—”
The words catch in my throat as I think about the envelope.Did she open it?
That envelope was everything I couldn’t say in person.Every apology, every explanation, every damn regret wrapped up in a few sheets of paper.And if she hadn’t opened it?If it’s been collecting dust this whole time?
“I mean it, Joel,” she cuts me off, her voice sharper now.“You don’t get to play that song.Not here.Not ever.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.This isn’t just anger—it’s something deeper.Something I can’t fix with an apology.
“I wasn’t trying to upset you,” I say softly, my hands still hovering over the guitar strings.
“Well, congratulations,” she says, her voice trembling.“You did.”
As she turns, the question slips out before I can stop it.“Anna—did you even open it?”
She freezes mid-step, her back to me, her fists clenched at her sides.
For a second, I think she’s going to answer.But then she turns her head just enough to glare at me over her shoulder.“Don’t,” she says, her voice low and dangerous.
Her shoulders rise and fall with a sharp breath, and for a moment, she looks like she’s holding something back—something bigger than just anger.But the mask snaps back into place, cold and unyielding, and she turns away before I can say anything else.
And then she’s gone, leaving the question hanging in the air like smoke.
I drop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
You don’t get to play that song.Not here.Not ever.
Her words echo in my head, louder than the quiet of the apartment.
I get where she’s coming from, I do.But damn, if this is how we’re starting, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to fix anything.
I came here for a second chance—to make things right.
I thought being close to her would help, that maybe just being here would start to thaw the ice.But now?Now it feels like I might be making it worse just by existing in her space.
Maybe I was kidding myself.
If she didn’t even open the envelope, I don’t know what fixing this looks like anymore.
Apologizing?Leaving her alone?
I came here to prove I’m not the same guy who screwed everything up.