CHAPTER 9
ROBBIE
The office was quieter than usual.
Not just because of hybrid working, but because people didn’t know what to say to me.
Some offered polite smiles. A few said, “Good luck,” like I was heading off to war.
Words they didn’t mean. I could see the scepticism in their eyes, hear it in their voices.
They all thought that chasing a dream was reckless.
I tried my best not to let their words get to me, yet at the back of my mind a small voice whispered that they were right.
One person left a card on my desk with a quote about chasing rainbows. I didn’t open it.
I didn’t want to cry.
Not here.
Not now.
I packed up slowly, letting the silence settle around me like dust. My resignation had felt like a rebellion at the time — a middle finger to the system, a refusal to be broken by the machine. But now, standing in the shell of my cubicle, it felt more like a funeral.
I was burying a version of myself.
The one who played it safe. Who followed the rules. Who kept his head down and his heart locked away. I just wasn’t a people person, and my inner demons gave me one hell of an inferiority complex.
I wasn’t sure who I was anymore or who I was becoming.
Only that I couldn’t go back.
At home, Evan had left a note on the fridge: “Gone to yoga. Don’t burn the house down. Don’t eat all the Jammie Dodgers!”
I smiled. Then, I sat on the edge of the sofa, laptop balanced on my knees. A large cup of tea sat beside me. My tummy was too tense to attempt eating biscuits.
I opened my inbox.
No new messages.
I checked the spam folder. Just in case.
Still nothing.
I hadn’t heard from Ashton.
Not yet.
And I hadn’t replied to his message either.
Because I didn’t know what to say.
I wanted to ask how he knew my dad.
I wanted to ask if Rick had ever talked about me.
But I also wanted to ask what his favourite book was. Whether he liked thunderstorms. Whether he ever felt lonely after a livestream.
I wanted to talk to him.
Not just about Dad.
But about everything.
And that scared me.
Because I didn’t know if I was reaching out for answers — or reaching out for him.
How to start that kind of conversation?
I clicked open the message again.
“I knew someone named Rick — he meant a lot to me. I’m not sure what you’re looking for either, but I’m here. And I’m real. For whatever that’s worth.”
I read it five times.
Then opened a blank reply.
Typed:
I stared at the words. Mulling them over. It didn’t help. They still felt wrong.
I deleted them.
Typed again:
I hovered over send.
Then I closed the laptop.
Not yet.
Not tonight.
Some things were too big for words.
And some connections needed time to bloom.