Page 12 of Second Sin

They flew in just to see me. Said the weekly Zoom calls and daily texts weren’t enough anymore. Beth needed to see me with her own eyes, needed to hug me, talk to me face-to-face. And as much as I appreciate the love, the weight of it settles heavy on my chest.

Ethan was their whole world, and now I’m what’s left. I love them. I do. But sometimes their care feels less like comfort and more like a tether I don’t know how to loosen.

I’ve mastered this version of myself. The one who nods at the right memories, laughs at the right jokes. But inside, I feel like glass—cracked, strained, always one question away from shattering.

I smile, polite and warm, even though I’m fraying at the edges.

Beth takes a slow sip of her wine, her fingers curling around the glass like it anchors her. “Do you remember that vineyard upstate? The one we all went to for Ethan’s birthday?”

I nod, the memory slipping in like warm sun through a cracked window. “He kept pretending he could taste notes of oak and cherry, but really he just liked that the bottle had a wolf on it.”

Ron chuckles. “Kid could drink a bottle of whiskey and not slur his words, but he could barely make it through half a bottle of wine before he started grinning like an idiot.”

Beth smiles, a little misty now. “I think it was Olivia that had him grinning like that, not the wine.”

I brace for what comes next. There’s always something. A letter he wrote. A voicemail she saved. I never know when the past will drop a boulder on my chest.

Beth reaches into her purse and pulls out a photo, sliding it across the table like it’s something sacred. “I found this the other day. Thought you might want to take it home.”

I reach for it, throat tight. “Thank you.” Ethan in his Army uniform. Smiling. Whole. Alive. I trace the edge of the photo with my thumb but don’t let myself cry. I’ve learned how to fold grief into silence. It’s easier for everyone that way.

“You know,” Ron says, voice gentler now, “he’d be proud of you. What you’re doing. Even if it is with the Annihilators.”

Beth swats his hand and shakes her head.

He shrugs. “I’m just saying, there werebetterteams to work for.”

I smirk. “What, like the Sharks?”

"Exactly." He points a finger at me and winks.

We all laugh. The kind of laugh that’s soft around the edges, worn in by years of shared memories. Then Beth’s smile fades just a little, her hand reaching across the table to mine.

“You’ll always be part of this family. You know that, right?”

I do.

But sometimes, I wonder if being part of this family means never getting to move on.

Later, when I step outside into the cold night air, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

The stars blur a little as I stare up at the sky.

How do you let go of the past when it’s the only thing keeping you grounded?

I don’t have the answer.

But I know I can’t stay in this emptiness forever.

Sebastian flashes through my mind, uninvited. God, I can’t stop thinking about the man—and it’s driving me crazy. That disaster of a one-on-one session a few days ago still loops in my head. How he started to let go, just a little. How all his walls slammed back into place the second it got too real.

How he bolted for the door like staying another minute with me might burn him alive.

But he didn’t leave right away. He stopped—just inches from me.

Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Close enough to see the stubble along his jaw, the slight chap of his bottom lip.

And the way my body reacted—tightening, leaning,wanting.

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