INVISIBLE STRING ― pedro pascal

-INSTAGRAM, MESSAGES, REAL LIFE

4:32PM

Willow
hi.
I'm sorry.
I'm the worst daughter.
I love you.
I miss you.
I'm sorry.
I'm okay.
Pedro is helping me.
Robert just went home 😭
But I'm okay I promise.
I'm sorry.

Dad
Ik
Literally everyone said so
Except you.
Really willow?
Cmon man

Willow
I'm sorry
I really am
I didn't know how to
talk to you

Dad
Didn't know?
How to????
Wtf does that mean
Willow call me rn

Willow
I'm busy rn

Dad
Willow Sandler
Answer this phone rn
Or I will fly to NYC and
live at your house for
a week

Willow
God fine

WILLOW IS CALLING...
ANSWER?

"Willow?"

"No, this is Patrick," Willow replied dryly.

"Oh, funny," her dad replied equally as dry. "What's your deal, kid? You never used to push me away like this."

Willow paused, letting out a soft sigh. She glanced around her penthouse, hating the quiet now that she was alone. Frankie had gone to nap and they'd taken Robert to the airport that morning.

Pedro left an hour prior, promising to return but "was in dire need of clothes."

"I'm sorry," Willow clenched her jaw, trying not to cry. She didn't want to cry anymore. She wanted to be strong. "I—it's hard to face you. For real. I feel like...I don't know, like Mom's just a call away but if we talk about her then—then she's..."her voice cracked and she blinked furiously, trying to master her breathing.

"Oh, honey," he sighed on the other end. "I know. It's—it's been weird. I keep pulling out my phone to text her. She always—" his voice cracked and it tugged at Willow's heart. She hadn't though of how much pain he'd be in after her death. He was grieving too. "—she always vetoed plots to bad movies and now she's not here and it's just...wrong."

Willow sniffled, sitting down on the sofa and taking in a breath. "Yeah. Me too."

"It's not your fault. Do you know that?"

Willow choked back a sob, wishing she could see him in person. "I—Dad..."

"It's not your fault, Willow," he said sternly. "I know everyone is telling you otherwise and I know you blame yourself because there's no one else to blame, but the truth is, honey, it was an accident."

"I was drunk," Willow cried out. "I was high and drunk and veered us off the road. They were—they were right. I—I was driving."

"Oh, peanut," his voice softened. "That's—I'm so sorry."

"So when people say I should be in jail or dead or that it's my fault — they're right. I should be and it is. I—I killed Mom."

"Willow, listen to me and listen to me right now," he cut her off. "Should you have been driving under the influence? No. And it—she's gone. And that's not fair, that's not—but it's not—it's not..."