𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ─────⋆⋅★𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝟓𝟕. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞

The laughter drifted up the stairs, soft and warm like the glow of golden hour spilling through an open window. Suki could hear Drew's voice mingling with the others, his easy laugh standing out amidst the playful chatter of their friends and his family. She paused for a moment, one hand on the hem of her wine-stained dress, letting herself drink in the sound. It was the kind of laughter that wrapped around you like a blanket, comforting and grounding. It was the kind of laughter that made her smile to herself, thinking that maybe, just maybe, she could let herself believe that his family could one day become hers.

She slipped into a pair of baggy jeans and an old, worn tee, choosing comfort over glamour for the rest of the evening. Her reflection in the mirror felt strangely foreign—her dark hair curling softly against her shoulders, her face bare of makeup. The woman staring back at her looked different, but she didn't mind. She wasn't running anymore. She could hear the sounds of love and belonging downstairs, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she thought maybe she could be a part of that.

As she reached for her phone to head downstairs, it buzzed in her hand. The screen lit up with an unknown number. Her stomach tightened instinctively, but she answered anyway, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Is this Tallulah Rose?" The voice was cold, impersonal, sending a chill down her spine.

Her breath caught in her throat, and without thinking, she hung up. She placed the phone on the bed, her heart racing as she tried to push away the unease creeping up her spine. Probably a journalist, she told herself. Just someone trying to stir up dirt. Nothing more.

But the phone buzzed again, the same unknown number flashing on the screen. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up, her voice hesitant this time. "Hello?"

"Ms. Rose, I'm calling to inform you—your mother has passed away."

The words hit her like a freight train, the air stolen from her lungs. The room spun around her, her knees giving way as she sank to the floor by the bed. The voice on the other end kept talking, but the words blurred, distorted, dissolving into static. Her mother. Dead. The woman who had caused her so much pain, who had left scars she still carried like invisible weights. Gone.

She didn't remember hanging up the phone, didn't remember curling into herself, rocking back and forth as the weight of it all crushed her chest. She wasn't sure what she was grieving—the woman who had barely been a mother, or the idea of the mother she'd always longed for but never had. Maybe it was the finality of it. The knowledge that there would never be a reckoning, never an apology, never a chance to rewrite the past. There was nothing now. Just silence.

Footsteps padded softly down the hallway, and then Drew's voice broke through the haze. "Suki?" His tone was gentle but alarmed, his figure appearing in the doorway. He was halfway through pulling on a clean shirt, but when he saw her, everything about him froze.

"Baby..." He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering as if afraid to break her further. "What happened?"

She couldn't speak. Her lips parted, but no words came out, only a sharp, gasping sob that shattered the silence. Drew moved closer, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. "It's okay," he murmured, stroking her hair. "I've got you."

She clung to him like a lifeline, her fingers twisting into his shirt as if letting go would mean drowning. "She's dead," she whispered, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of the world. "She overdosed. My mother... she's dead."

Drew's grip tightened, his chin resting on the crown of her head as he let her cry into him. "I'm so sorry," he said softly, his voice breaking just enough to reveal the depth of his own pain for her. "I'm so, so sorry."