Chapter 44 Ellie
FORTY-FOUR
Ellie
I spent the next two weeks unapologetically wallowing in self-pity. As I sat in my top-of-the-line hotel suite in New York City, I let myself go through all the emotions.
When I wasn’t traveling or performing, it wasn’t the productive kind of wallowing either. Every free moment, I spent with no makeup, no pants on. I didn’t half-ass my wallowing. I let myself spiral the way I only ever allowed approximately once a year, and it was overdue.
Between cities, I spent my nights watching true crime docs back-to-back and ordering every form of carbs and cheese DoorDash had to offer.
I turned off my phone, ignored everyone’s texts.
I knew Rachel and my parents meant well, but I didn’t want comfort, advice, or someone reminding me I was supposed to be fine.
I wanted to sit in my feelings, with the ache in my chest I couldn’t explain.
I’d built this life piece by piece, spent my childhood shaping it into something that looked like success.
I gave up so much to get here, even when it made me feel small—even when it never quite felt like mine.
And now, I stood at the edge of something real for probably the first time in my life, something I hadn’t let myself want in years, and I didn’t know if I was supposed to jump or walk away.
The rational part of me knew the truth. I didn’t have to choose one or the other. I could keep going, keep building, with him beside me. But that kind of love, the kind Sawyer offered, wasn’t something you could half-choose.
And a part of me wanted to jump, even if I didn’t know where I’d land. Whether it was San Francisco or Woodstone didn’t matter half as much as who would be waiting on the other side.
But I wasn’t sure I was brave enough.
I stared at the ceiling long enough to memorize every dip and curve of the plaster. The life I’d built was pressing in from all sides, and I was shrinking under the weight of it.
The notebook came out almost without thought; it was the only thing that made sense when everything threatened to pull me under. I sank to the floor, my knees drawn up, and let the pencil move across the page.
Sawyer saw through the walls I had built so carefully, through all the parts of me I tried to keep hidden, even from myself, and it terrified me to want something that may never fit inside the life I had always believed I was meant to live.
And yet, maybe that life was already behind me, fading into something I no longer recognized.
The words poured out before I could stop them, before I could question or weigh them. For the first time in a long time, I let them. Everything I had held back spilled onto the page until there was nothing left but the truth.
The stage lights dimmed, and a ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd. My heart raced as I crossed the stage. One of the backup dancers handed me my guitar, and I slung the strap over my shoulder.
I stepped up to the mic and drew in a slow breath.
“So…I’m doing something a little different tonight.”
A wave of cheers, loud and eager, filtered through the crowd. I smiled softly, not quite ready to meet their energy.
“I’ve been writing a lot recently,” I said, my voice echoing through the arena, “but not necessarily for an album. Not even for anyone to hear, really. It started off as lines I didn’t know what to do with. Thoughts. Pieces of things I couldn’t say aloud.”
The crowd quieted again, their stillness stretching out in support. I exhaled.
“This one wasn’t planned. It’s raw and unfiltered and probably not perfect, but it feels honest. And after some thought, I think it deserves its moment.”
A few screams rose up again from the front rows, and I chuckled. I adjusted the mic slightly and looked down at my hands as I started to strum, the opening chords humming through the speakers.
“I haven’t played this for anyone,” I said, glancing up, meeting the lights. “But this is Unscripted.”
I'm standing on the edge of all I know
A cliff so high, I'm scared to let go
Behind me lies the life I thought I wanted
Ahead's a choice that leaves me haunted
You came like lightning, sudden and bright
Breaking through the walls I built so tight
Now I'm suspended between the sky and ground
Hoping solid footing can be found
I’m halfway here, between the fall and the fear
The risk feels close, but I can’t make it clear
My heart’s spinning fast, I don’t know where to land
I’m scared to jump, though I want to take your hand
I’m halfway there, and it’s all unscripted
Wild and unknown, and I’m not sure I’ll risk it
The life behind me’s a story carved in stone
But it’s heavier now, and I feel alone
If I let go, will I fly or break?
Or will your hands be there when I wake?
You came like a storm I couldn’t foresee
Pulling at the pieces I thought were only me
I’m hanging here, between doubt and desire
Feeling the spark that could set me on fire
We built it on make believe, lights and lies
But I saw forever when I met your eyes
We had a script, but you tore it in two
Nothing fake ever felt this true
I don’t know what this is or how it came to be
But whatever it is, it’s wildly, beautifully unscripted
I’m halfway here, caught between the fall and the fear
You’re the risk I want, though I can’t make it clear
My heart’s in overdrive, and I don’t know the plan
I’m scared to jump, but I want to, hand in hand
I’m halfway there, and it’s all unscripted
Wild and unknown, but I don’t want to miss it
The last note faded, and the crowd erupted much louder than I anticipated. I stood there for a moment, letting the noise wash over me, raw in a way I hadn’t dared to be in years.
I was still Ellie Miles. Still me.
For a long time, it felt like I could never fully reconcile the two sides. Now, no matter what came next, I knew I could.
I lifted the guitar from my shoulder and smiled, a real one this time.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice shaking. “That song…it’s everything I couldn’t say before. It’s about standing on the edge of who you are and who you want to be. Sometimes, the hardest part isn’t jumping. It’s deciding you want to.”
The crowd cheered again.
After the encore, I finally left the stage.
Backstage was a blur of voices, lights, and the rush of adrenaline. I sank down on the edge of the dressing room couch.
Rachel opened the door, coming crashing in.
“Ellie!” She ran over to sit next to me and gave me a hug. “I’m so fucking proud of you. That was beautiful.”
“Thanks. Sorry, I went…a little off script there.”
“It’s okay. The crowd loved it, and I could tell you did too.”
“I did.”
And I wonder if Sawyer would too.
After I got back to the hotel, I showered, pulled on an old shirt, and climbed into bed. Then, I called my mom. She picked up right away.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said.
“Hi.”
“It’s late there, yeah?” she asked.
I glanced at my phone. “One in the morning.”
“Can’t sleep?”
“You could say that.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
I hesitated. “Sawyer.”
She paused. “Oh no. What did you do?”
“Why do you assume it was me?”
She let out a laugh. “Because I saw that boy’s face during your show. He had hearts in his eyes watching you, and I know you.”
“Wow. Thanks?”
“Call it a mother’s instinct. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay…well, I have a confession.”
“Oh, no,” she mumbled.
“Sawyer and I…it wasn’t real. Not at first.”
“What do you mean?”
“We were fake dating. To clean up the Harold mess in the press.”
“Well…that’s news to me.”
“Yeah, but—”
“He caught feelings.”
I let out a breath. “Yeah.”
“And now you don’t know what to do with that.”
“Yeah, because I think I did too.”
She didn’t sound surprised. “I know.”
“You do?”
“El, that song? The one you played tonight?”
I winced. “You saw that?”
“Of course. Someone always live-streams your shows, and your dad and I always watch, even when we’re traveling.”
“Where are you now?”
“Fiji. Don’t change the subject. That song was about him, wasn’t it?”
“Yes…”
“What’s holding you back?”
“Ellie Miles,” I stated.
She laughed. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t follow.”
“The person I’ve been building since I was little. I don’t know how to walk away from her.”
She went quiet for a second before speaking. “No one’s asking you to. You don’t owe your past self anything.”
“I don’t want to let anyone down.”
“You won’t.”
“I don’t want to let you down either.”
“El…”
“I’m tired. I’m so tired, Mom. I used to want this more than anything. Now, I don’t even know what this is.”
“You’ve done enough. You’ve given more than enough. You can’t keep chasing a dream you don’t believe in. It doesn’t mean any of it wasn’t worth it. That doesn’t stop being true just because the dream looks different now.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m failing?”
She chuckled. “Because it’s the only life you’ve ever known, but letting go doesn’t erase it. It makes room for something new, something that makes you happy.”
“And how do I know what that is?”
“Well, something tells me it’s a very handsome football player.”
I smiled, even though it hurt. “Yeah…maybe it is.”
Maybe I wasn’t ready to jump. Maybe I never would be. But maybe I didn’t have to be perfect to take a step forward.
Because, for the first time, I wasn’t alone on that cliff.
After we spoke for a while longer, she caught me up on their travels, and we hung up. The hotel room was too quiet without her murmured words of assurance, and my mind was spinning, so I got up and pulled the old journal out of my suitcase.
The one I’d been avoiding since the moment he handed it to me. I wasn’t sure I was ready to read the last few pages, but I missed him. And this, the mystery, the mess, the truth, was the only part of him I still had.
So, I turned the page.
I found the drawer empty this morning. It was a small thing, a photo I kept folded in the back beneath old bills and receipts. I shouldn’t have kept it. It was foolish. Dangerous. But it was the only proof I had of a time when I felt like myself.
Now, it’s gone, and he hasn’t said a word. Not at breakfast, not over supper, not in the way his hands rested too still on the table.
The silence is worse than any accusation. It’s a door waiting to slam.
I’ve thought about running, but there’s nowhere to go where he wouldn’t follow.
My eyes burned as I read her words. I blinked hard and turned the page, finding the final entry but quickly closing the journal. I was unsure if it was a weird loyalty, but it felt wrong enough to read it without him, let alone break our other rule of only one at a time.
Instead, I opened it back up and stared at the page I had just read. I read it again. Then again. Then, I went back and read all of them. My thoughts scattered in a hundred directions. None of it made sense.
I sat there for hours, flipping back and forth through the pages and retracing Lauren’s words like they might lead me somewhere new for once. The longer I reread, the more questions began to rise.
Who was the real father? Why hadn’t she named him? And why did it all still feel unfinished—like a door half-open, waiting for someone to step through it?
I didn’t know what I was looking for, but when I typed her name into the search bar for the thousandth time, I knew this wasn’t about a little mystery anymore. It was about the boy. The one who never got to grow up. The one who still didn’t have a voice.
And the woman who still had one.