Chapter Text
It was 10:27 pm on a random Tuesday in early March.
The bedroom smelled like Graham’s cedarwood shower gel mixed with the lavender candle Rhea had lit earlier, mostly so she could pretend she was winding down while half-heartedly flipping through a dog-eared copy of ACOTAR she’d been reading for research. She’d picked it up to prepare for playing that grumpy romantasy author and hadn’t expected to like it nearly as much as she did. Lately, though, it was hitting a little too close to home after months on the Pluribus set, where Carol’s daydreamy chaos of a love life had started bleeding into her own head.
But whatever. She wasn’t really reading anyway. She actually just sat there staring at the pages, the words sliding past without landing, like they were in another language. Her thoughts weren’t even going anywhere useful, just drifting in loose, restless circles. Then her phone lit up on the nightstand, the blue-white glow catching the edge of her reading glasses.
Buzz. Buzz-buzz.
The phone vibrated once, then twice more in quick succession. Rhea ignored it the first time, eyes still fixed on the page as if she could force herself back into it. Next to her, Graham was already under the covers, propped against the headboard with his reading glasses slipping down his nose, absorbed in some dense historical nonfiction. He breathed slow and even, calm as anything, not noticing the way her shoulders had gone tight the second the phone started vibrating.
Another buzz.
She reached over without looking, meaning to silence it, but the name popped up anyway.
Karolina:
Hey… you okay?
You’ve been radio silent since a few days now 🙁 Are you pissed? Talk to me.
The message sat there like a held breath. Rhea felt the familiar twist low in her stomach; part irritation, part something a lot more complicated that she still refused to look at too directly. She pressed her lips together and bit the inside of her cheek.
Pissed wasn’t even the right word for it. Not really.
Something had started shifting on the Pluribus set months ago, somewhere in the middle of filming Carol and Zosia’s romantic arc with Karolina. Too much time together in trailers after long days. Too many moments where their eyes held a beat longer than they should have while directors smirked and threw around words like “talent” and “chemistry”. Too many late-night texts about scenes that somehow stopped being about scenes and ended up somewhere way more personal.
She read Karolina’s message twice. Then a third time before her thumb started moving.
She typed, deleted, typed again.
Rhea:
not pissed. just busy.
Sent. A Lie.
Well, not entirely. Maybe she was pissed. A little, anyway.
She’d been simmering ever since Sunday night, after the cast group chat had exploded following their glorious Saturn Awards win. Everybody had been punchy and happy, spamming memes and emojis, dragging up old set stories and inside jokes. Then Karolina had dropped an old photo from last summer; the two of them crammed together on that awful green-room couch, laughing so hard neither of them looked camera-ready.
For one embarrassing second, Rhea had just stared at it, warm all over in that dumb, tingly way she hated… until she saw the caption.
Just two besties aaaaand….. award winners!!!! My fav sis forever ❤️
Besties. Sis.
It had been the third time Karolina had framed it like that, and by now it started to feel almost insulting. Did she truly believe that was the shape of what was growing between them? As if their late-night texts hadn’t drifted from “They changed the blocking on 42, thoughts?” to “You looked tired today. Everything okay at home?” to “I can’t get the way you said my name out of my head” to “You looked so beautiful tonight, got me completely distracted.”
Another buzz, voice note this time. Of course.
Rhea’s jaw tightened. She hated voice notes with the kind of visceral annoyance usually reserved for people who chewed with their mouths open or took off their shoes and socks on a plane. She hated how intimate they were, hated how Karolina’s low, slightly smoky timbre wrapped around every word and made it impossible to skim or pretend you misheard. And tonight, with Graham next to her, turning pages beside her in that contented rhythm of a man who still believed everything was fine, listening to one felt like walking a tightrope over a highway.
She glanced at him. He hadn’t looked up.
Rhea hesitated, but after a second, she slipped one AirPod in, rolled onto her side toward the wall like she was hiding (which, technically, she was) turned the volume almost all the way down, and pressed play.
Karolina’s voice came through soft and careful, almost tentative, like she was talking in a library after being scolded for making noise. “Hey… I can feel you pulling away and it’s killing me a little. Did I do something to upset you? I’m not trying to push, I just… I miss talking to you. Really talking… not the clipped ‘all good’ texts you send when you’re mad.” A small breath, almost a laugh but the sad version. “Don’t shut me out, okay? Please.”
The message ended; 19 seconds.
Rhea yanked the AirPod out like it had burned her. She stared up at the ceiling, throat tight, pulse knocking hard in her ears. Beside her, Graham shifted under the blanket.
“You good, honey?” he asked, voice gentle and absent-minded, still half inside his book.
“Yeah,” she said, too fast. “Work crap.” The lie came easy, which somehow made it worse.
He nodded and went right back to reading.
She felt shitty all at once — for that, for the distance she’d been putting between them for months now, for all the nights she’d come home late from “drinks” or “meetings”, for how often she caught herself staring at her phone like it contained a treasure. For the fact that Graham had probably noticed more than he let on and loved her enough, or trusted her enough, not to corner her about it.
Another waveform appeared almost immediately.
Nope. Absolutely not.
She backed out of the voice note and opened the thread instead.
Rhea:
u keep doing that voice note shit and i swear
Karolina:
I know you hate them. I’m sorry.
But you also never answer when I just type. You just leave me on read 😢
Rhea sat up slowly, careful not to shake the bed. Her fingers flew across the screen before her brain could catch up.
Rhea:
maybe bc I dont know what 2 say when u call me sis like were just two buddies hanging out…..
The reply dots appeared, then disappeared, then came back. Rhea shifted, glancing at Graham again. He murmured something about a plot twist in his book, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in her thumbs. Still, she felt bizarrely exposed, like if she exhaled the wrong way he’d hear every thought screaming in her head.
Karolina:
That’s what this is about? That I called you “sis”?
Before Rhea could even start on a reply, the recording icon blinked again. Then the new voice note landed.
“Jesus Christ,” she cursed under her breath, already putting the AirPod back in. She turned even farther toward the wall, silently begging for Graham to stay wrapped up in whatever dusty historical disaster he was reading and not ask another question.
Karolina sounded hushed this time, but rushed too, like the words had been tripping over each other on the way out. “Rhea, I panicked, okay? People keep… noticing. So I picked the safest, stupidest word I could think of and now you’re mad and I’m sitting here replaying every moment of that night like an idiot.” — 13 seconds.
Rhea shut her eyes. Her chest tightened.
Another ping. Another voice note. Damn you, Karolina.
“I’m hurting too, you know.” Quieter now, more stripped-down. “You brought Graham to the Saturns, called him the love of your life on stage. In front of everyone. I… I mean I get it. He’s your husband. And he’s been there while I had to leave. But hearing it out loud like that, even just on video…” Karolina breathed in, shaky and controlled at the same time. “It made everything feel… I don‘t know.” – 22 seconds.
The Saturn Awards.
Rhea remembered every second of that night with the kind of clarity that made her want to crawl out of her own skin. Standing up there beaming, the trophy heavy in her hand, Bob passing it over with that proud smile, the room all noise and lights and applause. She’d thanked Graham, called him the love of her life. And still, even then, she’d looked for Karolina in the crowd, secretly wishing — just for one stupid, selfish heartbeat — it had been different. Wishing Karolina had been her plus-one. Wishing she’d been the one Rhea kissed before walking up to that stage.
Karolina’s own speech had been so soft, so real, and every word had hit Rhea like frantic butterflies she had to squash because cameras were everywhere. And yeah, maybe she’d been a little pissed, a little sad, a little everything when Karolina left early that night.
Had that been why she’d said it? To prove something? To the room? To Karolina? To herself?
On the other hand, Graham was the love of her life… wasn’t he? He was everything she’d always said she wanted… right?
Heat climbed up Rhea’s neck, guilt moving slow and ugly under her skin.
Thirteen years together. Shared history, shared routines, shared silences that didn’t need filling. The way he knew exactly how she took her coffee without asking. The way he rubbed her feet after fourteen-hour days like it was nothing, like loving her had settled into his body as instinct. He was her home, her stability.
But lately that stability had started to feel uncomfortably close to a cage. And it didn’t change the fact her skin had hummed whenever Karolina walked onto set in that grey sweater, hair still damp from the trailer shower. Didn’t do a thing about the dreams Rhea kept waking from flushed and guilty and furious with herself; Karolina’s mouth at her neck, Karolina’s fingers slipping under her bra strap, Karolina moaning her name in a low purr.
Her fingers started typing again.
Rhea:
I do love him. but that doesnt mean I don’t love—
Her thumb froze. Love what? Love you? Love Karolina? The word sat there in the text box, glowing dangerously like a lit fuse. She couldn’t send that. Not with Graham beside her. Not with their sons asleep (or video gaming) down the hall. Not with this whole carefully built life suddenly feeling as thin and fragile as glass.
No. She couldn’t tell Karolina she loved her. Not over text, anyway.
Rhea backspaced the message one word at a time until the box was empty. Then she locked the phone and dropped it face-down on the nightstand hard enough to make the wood knock in protest.
Graham looked over, brow creasing behind his glasses. “Work being annoying this late?”
“Yeah,” she said, clipped. “It’s handled.”
He watched her a second longer. “You’ve been off the last few weeks. You should take a proper break after all those award shows. I don’t want you burning out, babe.”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? Because—”
“Graham, I said I’m fine.” The words came out sharper than she meant. She saw the flicker of hurt cross his face and hated herself instantly for putting it there.
He closed his book slowly and set it on the nightstand. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll let you sleep.” Then he reached up and clicked off his lamp.
Darkness settled over the room, broken only by the faint city glow through the blinds. Rhea lay rigid on her back, arms at her sides like a soldier awaiting orders, chest too tight. Her phone vibrated again but she left it where it was. Instead she listened; to Graham’s breathing gradually evening out beside her, to the distant hum of traffic somewhere beyond the house, to her own heart pounding against her ribs like her whole nervous system was currently trying to claw its way out through her pores.
She didn’t fall asleep until the sky outside started to lighten again.
*
Morning arrived gray and sluggish.
From downstairs, Rhea could hear Graham moving around in the kitchen, cupboards opening and closing, pans clattering, humming some old folk song he always seemed to come back to when he was making breakfast. The smell of coffee had already started creeping up the stairs, rich and bitter, followed by something buttery and warm. Breakfast. Normalcy. Domestic peace, laid out piece by piece.
Rhea sat on the edge of the unmade bed in the same oversized shirt she’d slept in, her legs bare, one foot tucked under the other. Her hair was a mess, all slept-in waves and knots, and her face still felt puffy with the kind of exhaustion that no amount of expensive eye cream could do anything about. Her phone sat in both hands, heavier than it should have, like it had absorbed the weight of everything she hadn’t said the night before.
She unlocked it.
27 unread messages. Almost all of them from Karolina.
She scrolled quickly, skimming rather than reading. A few apologies. A few more voice messages. A couple texts sent too close together, the digital equivalent of pacing. A please just tell me if you hate me now. An I’m sorry, forget I said that. Then another one ten minutes later, because obviously neither of them was very good at forgetting anything. Rhea slowed down and skimmed more carefully.
No more voice notes after 11:30. Karolina had stopped and somehow, the silence made Rhea’s chest ache in a way that felt both pathetic and impossible to ignore.
Downstairs, Graham laughed at something on the radio. The sound drifted up through the floorboards, warm and ordinary and so heartbreakingly familiar it made her want to scream.
She looked back down at the screen.
The sensible thing — the grown-up thing, the stable-wife-and-stepmother thing — would have been to put the phone down. Get dressed. Go downstairs. Drink the coffee Graham had made her exactly the way she liked it. Smile through breakfast. Kiss him on the cheek. Pretend work had been stressful, awards season had fried her brain, she just needed rest, nothing to worry about. Then maybe text Karolina something careful and bland and survivable. Sorry. Crazy night. Just needed some space. Something that closed the door without quite slamming it.
Instead, her thumbs moved over the keyboard.
Rhea:
Hey. Can we meet? 2day if it works 4 you? I need 2 talk, in person.
She stared at the message for one sharp second, long enough to feel the panic start rising. Then she hit send before doubt could grab her by the wrist and force her to swallow it.
The reply came almost instantly. The typing bubble appeared so fast it was obvious Karolina had been looking at the same thread, waiting.
Karolina:
Yes. Just tell me where and when and I’ll be there.
Rhea let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It left her shaky and thin, like it had been lodged inside her since Sunday night and was only now finally working its way out. Her mouth felt dry. Her hands felt cold.
She pictured Karolina reading the message wherever she was, probably still in bed, phone inches from her nose like always when she was anxious. Or maybe already pacing her kitchen in socks, coffee going cold on the counter. Rhea knew too many versions of her too vividly now. That was part of the problem; she’d learned too much about that woman. About the little things. The tone she used when she was trying not to sound needy. The fact that she always answered too fast when something really mattered.
Rhea looked down at the text box again. She could still stop this, send a fake excuse. She could say not today, sorry, something came up, maybe next week. She could stall this thing out until it died from neglect or cowardice or both.
Rhea:
that little park off Laurel Canyon. the one w/ the bench under the pepper tree. 11?
Karolina:
I’ll be there, waiting for you. Thank you for talking to me, Rhea ❤️
Rhea stared at the message until her eyes started to sting. Waiting for you. Of course she would be early. Of course she’d say thank you like this was some mercy Rhea was extending instead of the emotional equivalent of dragging both of them into the deep sea.
Rhea:
dont thank me yet
She looked at it for one long second. No, that was too honest, too revealing in exactly the wrong way. She deleted it before sending, watching each letter disappear one by one until the box was blank again.
For a moment she just sat there with the phone in her lap, shoulders rounded, eyes fixed on nothing.
Meeting Karolina in person had felt urgent thirty seconds ago, like the only possible option left. Now that it was real, now that there was a time, a place, an actual bench under an actual tree where she would have to sit down and say actual words out loud, it felt less like a plan and more like standing at the edge of something steep.
What was she even going there to do?
End it?
Define it?
Confess something she couldn’t even bring herself to type?
She pressed the heels of her hands briefly into her eyes until stars sparked there. None of the answers that came felt usable. She only knew she couldn’t keep doing this half-life thing, this texting in the dark, this pretending one set of feelings cancelled out the other. Something had to give. She just wasn’t sure yet whether it was going to be her marriage, her fantasy, or whatever impossibly tender thing had grown between her and Karolina in the gap between scenes and hotel bars and too many late-night conversations.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway, followed by Graham’s footsteps on the stairs.
Rhea straightened automatically, swiping back to her home screen, then locking the phone altogether and setting it face-down on the mattress beside her like that made her look less guilty.
“Breakfast in five, honey,” Graham called, not even in the room yet. His voice was easy, affectionate, everything about him domestic to the point of pain. “Unless you want your toast cold.”
Rhea swallowed.
“Coming,” she called back, and was relieved to hear that her voice sounded mostly normal.
He passed by the open bedroom door a second later, already dressed, hair damp from the shower he took after his daily run, glasses on. He smiled when he saw her sitting there.
“You look like you got about forty minutes of sleep.”
She managed something close enough to a smile to pass. “That obvious?”
“A little.” He leaned lightly against the doorframe. “You want coffee brought up, or are you joining the living?”
“I’m coming down,” she said easy.
“Good.” His eyes lingered on her face for a beat, searching without pressing. “You okay?”
Rhea tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged, aiming for tired rather than unraveling. “Just didn’t sleep great.”
He nodded, accepting it, or pretending to. “Well, I made enough coffee to revive the dead so there’s hope.”
That got the ghost of a laugh out of her.
He smiled properly then, pleased with himself, and disappeared down the hallway to wake their sons.
Rhea sat still for another few seconds after he was gone. Then she picked up her phone one more time and reopened the thread, just to make sure the messages were still there, just to prove to herself she hadn’t imagined any of it in some sleep-deprived spiral. The park. Eleven. Karolina waiting.
Yep. It was real.