Golden Stars / Scarlett Johansson

Chapter 1: Shadows of the Past

The sun was setting behind the distant skyline of New York, casting a soft orange glow over the city. Y/N's hands moved methodically, cleaning the espresso machine at the end of her shift in the small, cozy coffee shop she worked at. The sound of laughter from a few remaining customers filled the room, but her mind was elsewhere, lost in memories she'd tried so hard to bury. As she wiped the counter, her thoughts drifted back to that one day. The day that changed everything.

She was 13 years old, sitting in the backseat of the family car, laughing about something silly her mother, Eline, had said. Her father, Rune, had been driving. They were headed to the winter fair, something Y/N had begged to go to for weeks. Snow was gently falling, covering the streets like a white blanket, and her parents had finally agreed to take her, despite the cold. Her mother had been hesitant about the icy roads, but Rune had reassured her.

The memory was vivid, as if it had happened yesterday. Y/N could still hear the faint sound of the car radio playing her mother's favorite song, the light hum of conversation between her parents, and the excitement bubbling up inside her. Then, out of nowhere, the sharp screech of tires on ice and the world flipped. She remembered the jarring impact, the sound of metal crunching, and her mother's scream.

The next time she opened her eyes, it was to the sterile white walls of the hospital. Her body ached all over, but nothing could prepare her for the news. Her mother hadn't survived the crash. 

For the first few months, Rune had been there, holding her hand, comforting her as much as he could, grieving with her. But slowly, something shifted. He became distant, his grief morphing into something darker, something filled with anger. She hadn't realized it at first, but the first time he yelled at her, blaming her for wanting to go to the fair that day, something inside her broke.

The yelling turned into insults. And the insults into something much worse. By the time Y/N was 15, Rune no longer looked at her with love. Instead, he saw her as the reason Eline was gone. The beatings started shortly after, his once loving hands now filled with rage.

"You wanted to go to that stupid park!" he would scream at her after another round of punches, his eyes filled with hatred. "She died because of you!"

Y/N had spent those years walking on eggshells, trying to avoid setting him off, but it never worked. He was consumed by his grief and rage, and she became his outlet. She endured it in silence, believing every word he said. That somehow, it really was her fault.

When she turned 17, the stress, both emotional and physical, finally caught up with her. She fainted in the middle of class one day, her body giving in. The doctors had discovered the truth: her heart was failing. She needed a transplant, and quickly.

Her father, who had been furious when he first heard the news, shocked everyone by suddenly showing up at the hospital, his face pale and broken. Rune had sat beside her bed, his rough hands trembling as he held hers.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry for everything. I... I love you. I shouldn't have blamed you. It wasn't your fault. It was never your fault."

Y/N hadn't said anything. She couldn't. His words meant nothing to her after everything he'd done. But the next thing she knew, Rune had disappeared, and days later, she woke up in a different hospital room, her chest aching. The doctors told her what happened. Rune had given his heart for hers. He was gone.

She had cried for hours, alone in that hospital room, overwhelmed by the guilt that consumed her. First her mother, and now her father. He was right, wasn't he? It was her fault. She was the reason they were both dead.

That was ten years ago.

Y/N snapped out of the memory, her heart heavy. She blinked, realizing the coffee shop was empty now, and Calie, her best friend, was standing in front of her, waving a hand in her face.

"Hey, you okay? You've been zoning out for like... ten minutes. I thought you saw a ghost or something," Calie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as usual.

Y/N forced a small smile, trying to shake off the weight of the past. "Yeah, sorry. Just tired, I guess."

"Right," Calie snorted. "Well, your shift is over. Go home and sleep. You look like you need it.

Y/N laughed softly, grateful for Calie's presence. Calie was a medical student, smart, sharp-tongued, and with a dark sense of humor that most people couldn't handle. But to Y/N, she was more than a friend; she was family. They had known each other since their last year of high school, and Calie had been the only one to stick by her through everything.

Y/N grabbed her bag, giving Calie a quick hug before heading out into the cold evening air. She walked to the grocery store a few blocks away, mentally checking off the items she needed for the week. As she entered the store, she noticed a commotion near the front. People were crowding around someone, phones out, taking pictures. Y/N ignored it, heading straight for the cashier.

While waiting in line, something caught her eye—a flash of blonde hair, and a pair of piercing eyes locked with hers for a split second. Y/N's breath caught in her throat. She recognized the woman. She had seen her face before, but she couldn't place it. The woman, however, quickly turned away, avoiding the crowd of fans chasing after her.

Y/N frowned at the woman's lack of manners but quickly shook it off. She wasn't in the mood for drama. She paid for her groceries and made her way home, where Cebrus, her loyal German Shepherd, greeted her at the door, wagging his tail.

"Hey, buddy," Y/N murmured, bending down to scratch behind his ears. "Had a good day?"

Cebrus licked her hand, his soft brown eyes full of warmth. For a moment, all the weight of her memories melted away. Here, in her small apartment with her dog, she found peace. But even in the quiet, the shadows of her past always lurked just beneath the surface, waiting to pull her back in.