Chapter Text
I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock ringing. It’s 7 a.m. My fiancé, Steven Pasquale, sleepily growls at me to shut it off. I quickly apologize, trying to keep my movements as quiet as possible.
As carefully as I can, I slip out of bed and head for my closet. It’s a two-show day, so I need something comfortable to wear between performances. I pull out a pair of black leggings, a sports bra, and a grey oversized hoodie—practical, simple, and easy.
I wince slightly as the sports bra grazes some of the bruises on my ribs. It’s nothing new. Steven doesn’t mean to hurt me. He doesn’t. But sometimes, when I make mistakes—like forgetting to wash the dishes or cooking a meal he doesn’t like—his temper flares, and the hits come without warning. It’s my fault, really. I should’ve been more careful, more prepared. I’ve learned to live with it.
After I finish applying light makeup, I quickly braid my hair down my back. I make Steven his breakfast—eggs and bacon—and leave a kiss on his forehead before slipping out the door.
As I enter the theater, I’m greeted by none other than Lin-Manuel Miranda, my co-star and stage husband. "Hey, Pip," he says, beaming that bright, infectious grin of his.
"Hi, Lin," I reply quietly, forcing a smile in return. I know it doesn’t quite reach my eyes, though, because the moment he looks at me, I can see the concern creep into his.
"Pips, are you okay?" His voice is soft, genuine.
Shit. Even as an actress, lying to people is hard—especially when they know you well. I shake my head slightly and pull myself together. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?" I try to make my voice sound light, but there’s a slight edge to it, a crack that betrays my unease.
Lin doesn’t seem convinced. He studies me for a second, then nods, though his expression is still filled with worry. "No reason, just wondering," he says with a gentle smile. "You’d better start getting ready, places are in an hour!"
I thank him quickly, trying to hide the flush creeping up my neck, and head to my dressing room.
Once inside, I release my braid, fingers working fast to smooth my hair out. I then pull it into a half-up ponytail, the movement automatic, almost mechanical. There’s no time to waste. I rush through my stage makeup—foundation, mascara, a little blush—focusing on each step, trying to clear my mind.
And then, it’s time for the corset. The part i’m dreading. The bruises on my ribs throb as I pull it on, a deep, sickening ache spreading with every tug of the laces. Carleigh, one of the ensemble girls, approaches to tighten it for me, but the moment the corset squeezes, the pain flares. I bite my lip, stifling a gasp, but I can’t hide the wince that pulls at my features.
"Are you okay?" Carleigh asks, noticing.
"Yeah," I say through clenched teeth. "Just a little tight today." It’s a lie, but it’s the easiest one to tell.
It’s only two and a half hours, I remind myself. Just two and a half hours. Then I can escape backstage, collapse into a chair, and breathe again.
When the announcement rings through the theater—places—my stomach drops. Oh god, here we go.
I head for the wings, my heart racing. The crowd is already beginning to fill the seats. The lights are bright, almost blinding. The smell of the stage—the wood, the paint, the faint scent of makeup and sweat—fills my lungs, but it doesn’t ground me like it used to.
I try to push all thoughts of Steven out of my head as I take my place, adjusting the heavy fabric of my costume. The curtain rises, and the show begins.
The performance feels like a blur, but as we reach the number "That Would Be Enough," my body freezes. Lin’s hands are on my stomach, just like always, his touch warm and reassuring. But today, it feels different. His fingers brush too close to a spot that still stings from last night.
I wince, just slightly, enough for Lin to notice. His eyes narrow for a moment, the soft concern in them never leaving. He doesn’t say anything during the song, but I can feel his gaze on me, his touch gentler than usual, as if he knows.
When the curtain falls, I move quickly to the backstage area, needing to escape before I completely fall apart. I can feel Lin’s eyes on me as I pass, but I keep my head down, my thoughts a mess of tension and fear.
But Lin doesn’t let me slip away so easily.
"Pip, hey!" He catches up to me, his voice low, the concern still there, like he’s holding something back. "You didn’t seem okay back there. Did something happen?"
I stop in my tracks, heart pounding. For a second, I wonder if I should tell him. If I should confide in him—let him see everything that’s been building inside me. But I can’t. Not yet.
"I’m fine, Lin," I say, forcing a smile. "Really. Just a little tired. It’s a two-show day, you know?"
He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go for now. "Alright," he says, giving me a small, reassuring smile. "Just... if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me."
And with that, he walks away, leaving me standing in the quiet backstage area, the weight of his concern settling like a heavy coat on my shoulders.
I exhale, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It’s never enough.