9. Sienna
NINE
Sienna
Years have passed, but you still feel near
Christopher Street Station
9:44 PM
The subway car rocks gently beneath me as I stare at the scratched-up map above the door. As hard as I try to make sense of what just happened, I can't. I came into the city to drop off a few mock signs and ended up having too many glasses of wine with my ex.
My tote bag is wedged between my feet and my hands grip the metal pole like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. Maybe it is.
After six years of silence, we talked, and I didn’t storm off or say something I’ll regret later. But instead of feeling relieved, I am more unsure of what I'd accepted as reality than I did before.
At least before, the narrative made sense. Selfish rockstar left to pursue his dreams, leaving the girl who loved him behind with a broken heart. His radio silence confirmed that. Or, so I thought.
Now, if what he's saying isn't a load of crap to lower my defenses, he never got my messages and he tried to reach out unbeknownst to me.
The train screeches to a stop, and a few people shuffle on, filling the empty space around me. I glance down at my phone in my lap, where his number is now saved. We exchanged them right before I left, both of us hesitant, like we weren’t sure if it was the right move. I definitely wasn’t sure if it was the right move.
The screen lights up with Ollie’s face. My lock screen is a snapshot of him mid-laugh at the park last fall. My chest tightens, and I lock the phone quickly, shoving it into my jacket pocket.
I beamed when telling Callum about my son. Callum listened, his expression softening in a way I hadn’t seen in forever, and for a moment, it felt like we were just two old friends catching up.
For a moment, it felt safe to share that part of my world with him. But I stopped short of completely opening up that part of my life to him.
They won't meet. Ollie’s too young, and Callum is my ex, after all. Even though I have very little respect for Marcus, that is a line I won't cross. He's his father, after all.
Right now, it’s about the past, about figuring out what happened back then—not dragging the present into it before I even know where we stand.
The train lurches forward again, and I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of the tracks drown out my incessant thoughts. He said he tried to reach me. Calls, emails, letters. But I didn’t get any of them. Not one.
It doesn’t make sense.
The express train speeds through the tunnels. The darkness is broken only by the stations we rush past. The lights blur into a rhythmic strobe, painting fleeting patterns across the faces of the other passengers.
He told me Jake Morrison got him a new phone and number when he moved to Nashville—a perk in his "package." That explains why my calls and messages didn’t get through. But what about his? Letters don’t just vanish. Emails don’t delete themselves.
He admitted he didn’t try for as long as he should have. "I was mad. I thought you didn’t care anymore," he’d said, his voice low, rough around the edges. And I get it. I essentially did the same thing.
But every single attempt from both of us? Falling into the void? It doesn’t add up.
The train pulls into my stop, and I push through the crowd to the door, stepping onto the platform. The crisp March evening air greets me as I climb the stairs to the street, my thoughts still spinning.
By the time I make it to my brownstone, the silence feels heavier than usual. I drop my tote on the kitchen table and pull out my phone again, scrolling through old emails and texts I haven’t touched in years. There’s nothing from him, of course. I already know that. But still, I had to look.
I sink onto the couch, staring at the screen, willing it to give me answers. How does something like this happen? How do two people try to reach each other over and over and get nothing in return?
A thought flickers in the back of my mind, something I don’t want to consider. Did someone… interfere? Did someone make sure we didn’t connect?
I shake my head, brushing the idea aside. That’s ridiculous. Who would do that? And why?
The phone buzzes in my hand, and Emma’s name flashes across the screen. Her timing is almost eerie.
"Hey," I say, trying to keep my voice even.
"Hey yourself," she says, her tone warm but curious. "How did it go?"
I texted Emma from the bar when Callum excused himself to the restroom. I figured someone should know where I was, in the event that Callum had actually become a serial killer, and winning my trust back was all part of his diabolical plan.
I let out a long breath, leaning back against the couch. "Better than I expected. But… confusing."
"How so?"
"He said he tried to reach me. Back then. After he left. And I tried, too. But… nothing got through. For either of us. He never knew I tried to reach him."
There’s a pause, and when she speaks again, her voice is slower, more thoughtful. "That is weird."
"Right? He said he got a new number, so I get why my calls didn’t reach him, I guess. But his? Emails? Letters? It doesn’t make sense."
Emma hums, a sound that sends unease skittering down my spine. "Do you think… I don’t know, I mean, would someone have somehow sabotaged you two connecting?"
The words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous. I laugh, but it sounds forced and hollow. It’s not a funny-haha kind of laugh. "That’s ridiculous. Who would even care enough to do that?"
Emma doesn’t answer right away. "I don’t know. But something doesn't add up."
I don’t want to think about it. The idea is too big and too messy. "Yeah," I murmur, even though my mind is already racing.
After we hang up, I sit there in the quiet, staring at the ceiling as my thoughts spiral. Callum said he didn’t stop trying right away, but he did stop. I don’t know how long he tried, but I know I never stopped looking for closure. Now, years later, I’m back to the same question:
What really happened?
Sienna’s Brownstone
10:17 PM
The phone rings and Marcus’s name flashes across the screen. My stomach tightens. I already know this isn’t going to be good.
I consider letting it go to voicemail, but Ollie’s with him, and the "what ifs" are too much to ignore. With a sigh, I swipe to answer.
"Hey," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," Marcus says, his tone clipped. "Ollie’s fine."
Relief washes over me, but it’s short-lived. I know Marcus well enough to recognize that tone. He’s gearing up for something.
"Good," I say cautiously. "So, what’s up?" I ask as cheery as I can muster. Just grin and get through it. It's a theme I know well as it was my mantra every day of our marriage.
"I saw something about Callum Reid," he says, practically spitting out his name like it tastes bad in his mouth. "Didn’t realize he was back in your orbit."
I blink, caught off guard. "What are you talking about?"
"At the school showcase a few weeks ago," he says. "While Ollie was on stage, I saw something about him on my phone. And now I’m hearing through the grapevine that you two were spotted out together."
My grip tightens on the phone. "The grapevine?" I echo, my voice laced with disbelief. "Are we back in high school?"
"Don’t deflect," he snaps. "You know what I mean. And I’m telling you now, Sienna—I don’t want him around my son."
The possessiveness in his tone makes my blood boil. " Our son," I correct sharply. "And you don’t get to dictate who I see."
Marcus lets out a bitter laugh. "Maybe not. But I do have a say in who my son sees."
"Stop trying to control me, Marcus. Remember, that's why our marriage ended."
This isn’t about you. It’s about Ollie. I don’t want some washed-up musician with a reckless past messing with his life."
"Washed-up?" I scoff. "You clearly haven’t been paying attention. He’s signed a record deal. Never mind. I'm not interested in trying to convince you of anything.."
"That’s not the point, and you know it," Marcus says. "He left you, Sienna. I was the one who stayed. I was the one who picked up the pieces when he selfishly walked out of your life. You think I’m going to sit back and watch you let him hurt you again? Or worse—hurt Ollie?"
I grip the counter, my knuckles white as his words sink in. "Stop trying to act like this is about Ollie," I say, my voice trembling with controlled anger. "This is about you trying to control me. Just like you always did."
There’s a pause, the kind that feels like the air before a thunderstorm. "That’s not fair," Marcus says finally. His tone is quieter but no less insistent. "You were a mess when he left, and I?—"
"And you swooped in to ‘save me,’" I interrupt, the bitterness spilling over. "But you didn’t do it out of love, Marcus. You did it because you wanted me to need you. And now, even after the divorce, you still want to control every part of my life. Just leave me alone, please. I didn't ask for alimony because I just want peace. You go on with your life, and I'll do the same."
"I told you I want to help you. Let me help you."
"You want to control me. No thanks. I can get by on the small inheritance I have and get a job.”
"That’s not true," he says, but there’s a crack in his voice, a hint of uncertainty that tells me I’ve hit a nerve.
"Isn’t it?" I say. "You’ve always been jealous of Callum. Even when I married you, you couldn’t let it go. And now you’re using Ollie as an excuse to keep me under your thumb."
There’s another pause, longer this time, and I can almost hear him grinding his teeth on the other end of the line. "You’re making a mistake," he says finally. "He’s bad news, Sienna. Always has been. Do whatever you want with your life, just keep him away from my son. I promise you'll regret it if you don't."
I shake my head, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "Goodnight, Marcus," I say, my voice cold. "I’ll talk to you when it’s time to pick up Ollie."
I hang up before he can respond, the silence of the apartment crashing down around me like a weight.
I set the phone down on the counter, my hands trembling. Marcus has always known how to push my buttons, but tonight, he struck deeper than usual. Maybe because he’s not entirely wrong.
When Callum left, I was a mess. I spent months trying to put myself back together, and Marcus was there, steady and patient in a way I thought I needed. He offered stability and promises of a life that didn’t feel like it could fall apart at any moment.
And then I found out I was pregnant. For weeks, I wasn’t even sure if the baby was Callum’s or Marcus’s. It wasn’t exactly my proudest moment—turning to Marcus in my sadness, in my desperation to feel something solid when everything else felt like it was crumbling. But he didn’t flinch. When I told him there was a chance the baby wasn’t his, he didn’t get angry. He just looked at me and said, "We’ll figure it out. Either way, I’ll take care of you."
It was Marcus who insisted on doing the paternity test, quietly and without drama, one of those at-home kits you can order online and then send off your sample. When the results came back and confirmed Ollie was his, I thought maybe that was my answer. A sign that this was where I was supposed to be. That Marcus was the kind of man who would keep me and my baby safe.
I thought I was being practical. Thought I was lucky to have someone who wanted me, even when I felt like a shell of myself. But looking back now, I realize that decision wasn’t about Marcus at all. It was about me, searching for validation that I was lovable and that I would be taken care of.
But Marcus didn’t love me. Not really. He loved the version of me that fit neatly into his world—the one who painted over her chaos and settled for safety. He loved control. And I let him have it because it felt easier than fighting for the person I used to be.
But I’m not that person anymore.
Callum’s back, and whether I want to admit it or not, it’s stirring up everything I’ve tried to bury for years. Marcus sees it, and it scares him. Because he knows he doesn’t have a hold on me anymore. He has no control over what happens from here.