Page 16 of Saving Saul

"Three, two..." My grandmother always said, “When God closes a door, He opens a window.” Saul is my window, and I hope he never shutters.

"One—reveal!"

The doors swing open, and I’m greeted by blinding light, the kind that floods a stage when the final act crescendos. My eyes take a moment to adjust, the scene before me swimming into focus. But there’s no applause, no sigh of awe from Saul as he sees me for the first time. Only silence. Deafening, gut-punching silence.

The cameras hover, eager vultures waiting for the fairy tale to unfold. But where Saul should be, there’s only an empty space. The champagne glasses on the love seat remain untouched, the fizz bubbling mockingly in their flutes.

“Saul?” I whisper, the name escaping on a thread of hope that unravels into nothing. My voice echoes in the cavernous studio, unanswered. My smile freezes, tight and fragile, as whispers ripple through the crew.

"Keep rolling!" The director’s voice slices through the thick tension, and the room bursts into action—producers barking orders, assistants scrambling to adjust the live feed, and crew members avoiding my gaze. My stomach churns, and the warmth I’d clung to moments ago evaporates, leaving only the cold sting of humiliation.

Where is he?

My thoughts are a kaleidoscope of panic and confusion as I scan the room, searching for an answer. My legs feel unsteady, and my breath is shallow. I can feel the cameras, their lenses trained on me, capturing every tremble of my lips, every flicker of emotion across my face.

“Stay composed, Tessa,” I murmur to myself, but it’s like trying to plug a leaking dam with my bare hands.

The producer, Gavin Turner, strides toward me with a look that makes my blood run cold. His usually confident demeanor falters, and his mouth speaks a grim line as he reaches me.

“Tessa,” he says softly, his voice low, meant only for me. “We need to talk. Offstage.”

“Is it about Saul?” I ask, the words barely a whisper. The answer is already written on his face, but I need to hear it. I need to understand.

He nods, his gaze heavy with something I don’t want to name. “Come with me.”

I follow him, my feet moving on autopilot as he leads me away from the cameras and the prying eyes. The corridor feels colder and darker, as though I’m walking into the belly of something terrible.

“Tessa, there’s been... an incident,” Gavin begins, the words struggling to find purchase. “Saul’s gone, and all he left was this note. It’s addressed to you.”

The word hits me like a slap, sharp and stinging, leaving me breathless. “Gone?” I echo, the sound foreign and disjointed. “That’s impossible. There must be some mistake.”

Gavin’s expression is pained, his tablet hanging uselessly at his side. “I wish it were, Tessa. But he’s been gone since yesterday. He’s not coming.”

So they’re just telling me? Oh, right, the show must go on; this is prime-time drama for them—a jilted fiancée—perfect.

But this is what I wanted. To be the most talked about cast member of this show. Now, I’d give anything to crawl away in obscurity,

Shit.

The world tilts, and I grasp the wall for support, the cool surface grounding me in this incomprehensible reality. My love story—the one I’d built in my heart and soul—crumbles before my eyes, the pieces too sharp to touch.

“Tessa, I’m so sorry,” Gavin says, his hand hovering near my shoulder, unsure if comfort is possible.

Tears prick my eyes, hot and unbidden, but I don’t let them fall. Not yet. Not here. The cameras may be hidden, but their ghost lingers. I won’t shatter—not where they can see.

I straighten, drawing on every ounce of strength New Orleans gave me. “Turn off the camera,” I whisper, my voice steady despite the quake in my chest. “Now!”

Gavin nods, signaling to someone beyond my limited field of vision, but it feels like an eternity before the red recording lights finally blink out. In that time, the bustling set erupts into a frenzy. Producers rush around with headsets pressed to their ears, their voices rising above the sudden chaos. Someone is calling for a commercial break, another is barking orders aboutcutting the live feed, and all the while, I'm standing here, adrift in disbelief.

"Are you sure?" My question is a whisper lost in the chaos, directed at no one and everyone at once. This can't be happening—not to Saul, not to us. But Gavin's solemn nod cuts through the noise, a silent confirmation that shatters any lingering hope.

Saul is gone, and I must face the shame of being left alone… alone.

The cameras might have stopped rolling, but their lenses remain pointed at me, hungry for the moment my composure crumbles completely. I won't give them that satisfaction—not here, not with the world watching. With trembling hands, I smooth down the vibrant fabric of my dress, a futile attempt to steady myself.

Then, I run away to the comfort of a nearby dressing room.

When I’m finally alone, it hits me—all of it—the betrayal, the shame, the love that feels like it’s dying in my chest. I press my back against the door, the cool wood grounding me as the first tear spills over, carving a hot, salty path down my cheek.

---