Page 46 of The Sound of Forever
But having her? It feels impossible. Not for someone like me, someone whose hands are stained with mistakes, someone who’s spent too long hiding from the world. She deserves someone whole, someone who can stand beside her in the light.
And me? I don’t even know if I’m allowed to stand there long enough to reach for her.
ChapterForty-Six
Philly,
I don’t even knowhow to start this, but maybe there’s no perfect way to put it into words. So, I’ll just say what’s been looping through my head every night when I can’t sleep—I hope you’re happy. Truly, deeply, impossibly happy in the life you’re building. You deserve that, Philly. More than anyone I’ve ever known.
You were the best thing that happened to me in my other life. It’s weird to say that, isn’t it? Seems like the past is not just that, but another era that I can’t bring back at all. Not because I can’t remember it, but because it seems like I don’t exist.
Now I’m trying to figure out what happiness means for me, but it’s a mess in here. I’m not sure I’ll ever have it all pieced together. Lately, I’ve been wondering if moving forward means letting go or holding on. I guess that’s why I’m writing this—to let go of one thing so I can hold on to another.
Loving another child . . . feels like a betrayal of the one we lost. I don’t know if that thought crosses your mind, but the guilt chokes me every single day. Is it fair to her memory, to the tiny life that was supposed to be ours, to pour my heart into someone else?
But then I think . . . maybe loving another kid doesn’t mean forgetting her. Maybe it’s a way to honor her. To take all the love we had for her and spread it wider, brighter, so it doesn’t die with the dream of her. Maybe I can love another and still carry her with me. Maybe it’s okay if I don’t know how to do that yet, as long as I’m trying.
I don’t know what I’m doing most days, Philly. But I know one thing—I want the best for you. I want you to have everything you’ve dreamed of, even if it hurts to know I’m not part of that dream anymore.
Thank you for being the person who taught me what it means to love so completely it changes you. Thank you for the time we had, even if it wasn’t enough—even when I fucked it up.
I hope someday I can look back at this and know I made the right choices. And I hope you’ll look back and know that no matter what, you’ll always hold a piece of me.
Take care of yourself, Philly.
Keane
ChapterForty-Seven
Julianna
Rayne’s skinburns beneath my fingertips, heat radiating like a furnace that doesn’t let up. Her fever has gripped her small body for three relentless days, leaving her pale, fragile, and trembling with chills I can’t seem to soothe. Her cracked lips part with a faint moan, the sound slicing through me, leaving me raw and helpless.
“You need to get her to the hospital in Seattle. She needs tests, fluids—she’s dehydrated, and this could escalate quickly,” the doctor says.
Hospital. Seattle. Escalate.
The words collide in my mind, destroying any sense of control I’d clung to. “Okay,” I manage to say, though my voice feels foreign, distant. “I’ll drive her.”
But the doctor shakes his head. “No. That’s too risky. It’s a two-hour drive, and she needs help now. We know of a transport service, but . . .” He pauses. “It’s costly.”
Costly. What does that mean? Expensive, as in I’ll have to sell my car to pay for it, or I would be in debt for the rest of my life? Not that it matters. This is the life of a child.
“I can have someone here soon,” Keane says, stepping forward. His voice cuts through the haze, grounding me, pulling me out of the downward spiral.
I turn to him abruptly. For a moment, I’d forgotten he was still here, lingering near the doorway like he didn’t want to intrude. He’s been in and out of the house for the past couple of days, bringing food, or keeping me company at night while I care for Rayne.
We don’t speak much, he’s quiet, but just by being here, present, it is enough.
“Who can you call?” I ask.
Keane glances at me, holding up his phone. “My brother. Rowan. He’s got connections in Seattle—he can make this happen.”
“But I can’t afford—” The words break free before I can stop them. My breath catches as guilt mixes with panic.
“We can,” he says. “Let me help.”
I open my mouth to protest again but close it just as quickly. There’s no time, no room for pride or hesitation.
