Page 88 of Back to You
Anna nods. "Then start with admitting you want to."
I let out a shuddering breath, I don’t say anything else, and Anna just reaches for my hand. We sit in silence for a while, watching the world pass by, lost in our own thoughts.
CHAPTER 40
Sebastian
Ihaven’t slept in a week, not really, not in a way that counts. I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come, at least not a sleep that heals or replenishes, and definitely not the type that quiets the noise.
Every time I drift off, she’s there…Mariana. Laughing, looking at me the way she used to, like I was her favorite thing in the world, as if she had never left, and she had never torn my fucking heart out of my chest and walked away with it.
My dreams of her aren’t soft, they aren’t gentle, no...they are ruthless. When I wake up, for those first few disoriented seconds, I forget. I forget that she’s not here, and that she’s not mine anymore.
The realization always hits like a sucker punch, sharp and immediate, knocking the wind out of me before I can even get my bearings. The muscle memory of having her beside me is stronger than my grief.
I roll onto my back, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes, willing the images away. I exhale sharply, my chest hollow, gripping the edge of the envelope between my fingers.
My hands are unsteady, I don’t realize how tight my grip is until I see the way the paper bends slightly at the corners.I smooth them out with the pad of my thumb, hoping that’ll somehow undo the damage.
I haven’t opened it, I haven’t even been tempted, because it’s not mine. It’s Mariana’s, and it’s from her mother.
I swallow hard, my throat tight.
"She’s going to need this one day." I hadn’t understood what her mother meant when she pressed it into my hands. At the time, Mariana had been happy, we had been happy. She was mine then.
She had let me love her, let me in without hesitation, without walls. She had told me she loved me like it was the easiest thing in the world, like it was as natural as breathing.
Now, she won’t even look at me. The weight of that shift is suffocating. If someone had told me back then that this is where we’d be now, strangers standing in the wreckage of what we used to be, I would have laughed in their face.
I would have sworn up and down that Mariana and I were different, that we were unwavering, that nothing could touch us.
But her mother? Her mother had seen this coming. Long before I did, long before Mariana did. Somehow, she had known, maybe in the way only mothers can, that the day would come when Mariana would shut herself away, locking the world out, locking me out, and she had left something behind to stop her.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling roughly, the weight of it all pressing into my chest. This letter is more than ink on paper, it’s a lifeline, a bridge. It’s a desperate attempt to reach the girl who once whispered, “I love you,” without fear.
If there’s even the smallest chance that these words can break through the walls she’s built, and can cut through the fear she’s wrapped around herself like armor… then I have to try. Even if it kills me, Even if this is the last thing I ever do for her.
Because this isn’t about what I want, it’s so much larger than that; this is about what Mariana needs. And right now, she needs this letter more than she knows.
The porch light flickers once before holding steady, casting a dim, golden glow over Anna’s front steps. The night air is cool, crisp enough to sting a little when I inhale, but I barely notice. My hands are cold, but my palms are sweating.
I shift my grip on the envelope, flipping it between my fingers, feeling the worn edges bend and flex under my touch. I’ve done this too many times—held it, smoothed out the creases, traced the handwriting as if I could pull meaning from the ink without opening it.
I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be doing this, but I don’t know what else to do, so I knock, not too loud, not too soft—just firm enough to be heard over the quiet hum of the night.
A pause, a shuffle of movement inside. Then, the door swings open, and Anna stands there, her hair pulled into a loose bun, an oversized sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder. She blinks at me, confusion shifting into something sharper, something wary.
Her arms folded across her chest. "You look like shit."
I let out a breath of a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. "Yeah."
She studies me, brow furrowing, taking in everything—my clenched jaw, my tired eyes, the tension I can’t seem to shake. Her gaze drops to my hands, to the envelope I’m gripping like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Her expression shifts again, caution creeping in. "Come in."
I don’t move. That’s her second clue, because I always move, I never freeze up. Unless something is really, really fucking wrong.
Anna’s stomach tightens. "What’s going on?"
