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Eyes forward.
Eyes on the finish line.
Don’t look back.
The finish is all that matters.
Maya repeats the mantra in her head like a lifeline. the rhythmic pounding of her feet filling the air. Each step is precise, mechanical, and calculated–just like Lane had drilled into her years ago.
But logic slips through the cracks. One look at Carina–her wife, her anchor, her home–and Maya knows it’s a lie. The finish isn’t all that matters. It never has been.
But still, logic doesn’t always align with her mind these days. Some days are better than others. She knows that. She clings to the improvement like a rope dangling over a canyon. But the scars Lane left behind… those are forever.
Her strides continue on the treadmill, the belt whirring beneath her, the hum of the motor loud enough to drown out the echoes of his voice.
Or it should be.
“Faster, Bishop. Don’t stop until I tell you.”
Her breath catches. The words slither through her mind like smoke, curling into every crevice they can find. She shakes her head, physically tries to dislodge them, but they’re stuck.
Her mind has learned to agree with logic more than it used to before Carina–before them . But after getting used to living that logic with Carina, after learning what love and safety feel like, her mind taking over again feels terrifying. She knows what it means. It’s not rational control–it’s survival mode, and survival mode has always been a lonely, brutal place.
It’s better than it was in high school, she reminds herself. Back then, she was ruthless, hardened, convinced that nothing else mattered. She had no one to tell her otherwise.
The memories rush in: the relentless sprints, the blisters and aching muscles that refused to let her rest. She remembers Lane barking orders, his cold eyes watching her crumble but never letting her stop.
He never laid a hand on her, but he didn’t need to. He had pushed her beyond limits she didn’t know she had, and when she collapsed, he pushed her harder.
She glances at her feet, the ones that carried her then and still carry her now. She knows where to look to find the scars, the ones etched into her flesh, a permanent reminder of his cruelty. The thickened patches of skin tell one story, but the invisible scars?
Those are the ones that truly matter.
Those are the ones that linger.
The firefighter clenches her jaw, her hands curling into fists as she runs. Sweat drips down her temple, but the room still feels cold, too cold–like the icy water that used to be dumped on her. Her chest tightens as she remembers the sharp chill, her body trembling not from exhaustion but from humiliation.
It’s like Beckett’s prank with the bucket of red dye all over again. The memory slams into her, vivid and merciless. The stickiness of the dye on her skin, the heat of the shame crawling up her neck as her station laughed. No one but Beckett meant harm, she knows that now, but in that moment, it felt like a spotlight shining directly on every single thing wrong with her.
Her pulse spikes.
The anxiety curls up in her chest like an unwanted guest, weighing her down. It’s a daily part of her life now, it’s in the little things: the way she triple-checks the stove before leaving the house, the tension that knots her shoulders when someone raises their voice, even the way she looks over her shoulder when running alone.
She knows it’s all connected.
Her watch buzzes faintly on her wrist, but she doesn’t check it. The heart rate warnings had become a nuisance long ago, an unhelpful reminder that her body still reacts before her mind can catch up. She’d silenced the alerts, told herself she didn’t care.
But she does care.
She cares that Lane’s voice still lives rent-free in her mind. She cares that his words, his punishments, his unrelenting need to break her have shaped her into the woman she is now. She cares that no matter how far she runs, she can’t seem to outrun him.
Her legs ache, the treadmill belt speeding beneath her, but she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even glance at the display screen to check her pace. She just keeps running.
Running toward the beating of her chest. Running because it’s all she’s ever known.
And yet, in the corner of her mind, there’s Carina. Always Carina. The thought of her softens the edges of Maya’s spiraling thoughts. She knows Carina wants her to stop running, wants her to rest, encourages her to rest . She’ll make her feel safe and loved. She pictures her wife’s hands, warm and steady, grounding her in ways no finish line ever could.
But Maya doesn’t look back. Not yet.
For now, she runs.
I've come a long way since high school
Just look at all these scars of mine
You should probably check my vitals
I swear down, it feels real this time
Okay, okay, okay, okay, I'm sure it'll pass
Anxiety can be deceiving, it's the demons, relax, relax
Just ride the feeling when you feel it b-b-beating too fast
The stress is suffocating. It wraps around her chest like a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter until every breath feels like a battle.
There’s too much pressure.
She was supposed to be happy. She was supposed to be at home, laughing with Carina, holding her hand while they planned for their future with pregnant Carina. But that dream feels like it belongs to someone else now. Instead, she’s here. Running. At work. Alone. Still not pregnant.
It’s all too much—the demotion, the failed pregnancy attempts, the blackmail, the bullying, the weight of constant failure pressing down on her like a storm cloud that never moves.
So she does what she knows how to do.
She runs.
Because that’s who she is, right?
That’s who everyone sees when they look at her, it’s what everyone keeps calling her. Maya Bishop. The former captain. The former Olympian. The woman who ran on a sprained ankle and won gold. The machine. The unstoppable force who doesn’t care about anyone but herself.
Maya Bishop, the dirty blackmailer.
Her stomach twists at the thought, bile rising in her throat. That’s not who she is. She doesn’t want to be that person anymore.
She’s not just Maya Bishop. She’s Maya DeLuca-Bishop. That’s who she is . A wife. A lieutenant. A former Olympian. A future mother.
Maya DeLuca-Bishop, madly in love with her wife.
But the name feels too heavy for her to carry. She’s not worthy of it—not worthy of the warmth and love that Carina offers so freely. Not worthy of the hope in Carina’s voice when she talks about their future family. Not worthy of the woman who believes in her, even when she can’t believe in herself. She’s not worthy of the praise given so freely by her wife. Not when she keeps failing. Not when she doesn’t deserve her wife .
The shame burns deep.
So she runs.
Her feet pound against the treadmill as though she can outrun her thoughts, her failures, the gnawing feeling of inadequacy that clings to her like a second skin. Her mind races faster than her legs, replaying every mistake, every shortcoming, every time she’s fallen short.
She pushes harder, her lungs screaming for air, until her foot lands wrong, sending a jolt of pain up her ankle. She stumbles, gripping the treadmill’s rails to steady herself.
But there’s no time to stop. No time to take a break.
She catches her breath, swallows the pain, and picks up her pace again. The world feels too loud, too chaotic, and yet so far away. Every breath is shallow, her chest tight as though she’s forgotten how to inhale.
Her body is begging her to stop. Her mind is begging her to keep going.
But she’s not stupid. She knows the warning signs.
Reluctantly, she slows to a walk, steps off the treadmill, and grabs her water bottle. She doesn’t pause to think—thinking hurts too much right now. Instead, she lets her feet carry her toward the beanery.
From there, she can see them all—her team, her friends—laughing, talking, living.
She barely registers the pang of hurt that shoots through her chest as she walks past them. It’s almost easier to ignore it. To pretend it doesn’t exist.
Nobody notices her. Not when she walks past. Not when she fills her water bottle. Not when she turns toward the exit.
From the corner of her eye, she sees Vic glance her way. For a fleeting moment, there’s hope—maybe Vic will say something, call her over, acknowledge her.
But Vic looks away, laughing at something someone else said.
Maya’s hope flickers out like a candle in the wind.
She keeps walking, her footsteps heavy, her chest hollow, until she’s back in the gym. The emptiness presses in again, filling every space she thought she’d left behind.
And then it’s there, louder than ever.
You’re not enough.
The words slam into her, over and over, like a drumbeat in her head. You’re not enough. You’ll never be enough.
Her throat tightens, and her hands tremble as she grips the water bottle. She knows it’s true. She knows Carina tells her differently, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
What makes it easier is running.
So she climbs back onto the treadmill, starts it up, and runs.
She runs until the pounding of her feet drowns out the words in her head. Until the whirring of the belt becomes louder than the voice screaming at her. Until, for just one second, she can let it all go.
It's a throwback to the old days
I slip back to my old ways
It's the wrong time to break
It's the right time to breathe
Tryna catch your breath in a hurricane
Like tryna punch a hole in the cellophane
While everybody cеlebrates
But they don't know I'm trappеd
Show me how to numb the pain
Oh, Lord, oh, Lord
So I can finally celebrate
Her shift is almost over when she sits down in her bunk.
She pulls out her phone, her thumb hovering over Carina’s name on the screen. She wants to hear her wife’s voice. Wants Carina to tell her it’s going to be okay, that she’ll be okay. She needs to believe it, even if it’s just for a moment.
The line rings. Once. Twice.
No answer.
Maya lowers the phone, staring at the screen as it goes dark in her hand. Her chest tightens, the silence feeling heavier than any words could.
She doesn’t call again. She can’t. What if Carina’s busy? What if she’s with patients? What if she’s just too tired to deal with her right now? Maya’s already been too much—too much stress, too much failure, too many apologies.
She exhales shakily, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. She knows Carina would tell her to come home, to let herself rest, to let herself be cared for. But right now, Maya can’t.
Instead, she stays.
The station feels empty, the echoes of laughter and conversation from earlier now replaced by the hum of distant machines. It’s easier to be alone here, where no one expects her to smile or explain herself.
She thinks about calling Carina one more time but doesn’t. She can almost hear her own voice in her head, rehearsing the conversation she won’t have. I’m sorry. I don’t want to let you down, but I just… I can’t come home tonight. I’m just… nevermind. I’ll be home tomorrow, I’m sorry.
Maya lets out a frustrated sigh, tossing her phone onto the bed. She knows it’s a cop-out, but she convinces herself that staying here is better. She doesn’t want to be a burden—not tonight.
So she stays in the station, surrounded by empty rooms and the weight of her own thoughts, running from the voice in her head that keeps telling her she’s not enough.
No, it's so bad
No, absolutely not
I'm sorry to let you down, but, uh
I'm, I'm, I'm not gonna come tonight
I'm just
I'm just (Yeah)
Maya has come a long way since the academy. She remembers those early days—how scared she was, how hard she worked to prove herself. She’d gained so many friends over the years, or at least she thought she had.
She was there for every one of them. Through their losses, their struggles, their moments of doubt. She showed up. She always showed up.
But now? Now, they didn’t have her back.
The rumors followed her everywhere. She could hear the whispers in the hallways, feel the weight of their stares when they thought she wasn’t looking. It was like every good thing she’d done had been erased, replaced by the mistakes they couldn’t seem to forget.
She had hoped for a call at first. Just one phone call. Was that too much to ask? Just one person to ask her if she was okay, to remind her she wasn’t alone.
But no one did.
So she runs. She runs because she knows better now.
She doesn’t bother picking up anymore when her phone rings. What’s the point? She can’t believe they mean it—not after everything. She can’t believe they won’t just make her hate herself more than she already does.
The gym is her sanctuary now. The treadmill drowns out her thoughts, the rhythm of her feet pounding against the belt keeping her grounded. She doesn’t need them. She tells herself she doesn’t need anyone.
But the ache is still there, deep in her chest, impossible to ignore. She thinks about Diane, how she used to say the hurt can fester if you let it. How it can grow until it’s too big to face.
Diane’s voice echoes in her head: “You don’t have to carry this alone.”
And for the first time in a long time, Maya lets the words sink in.
When the phone rings again, she doesn’t pick it up. But this time, she stops running. She steps off the treadmill, her legs shaky, her chest heaving.
She stares at her phone for a long moment before scrolling through her contacts. Her finger hovers over Carina’s name, but she scrolls past it.
She finds Diane’s number instead.
Her hand trembles as she presses the call button, lifting the phone to her ear.
The line connects after a few rings, and Maya exhales, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to hate myself anymore.”
I've come a long way from nowhere
I've given up on friends of mine
'Cause when I needed friends, they weren't there
A phone call coulda saved my life
Then I fall back and they crawl back
Like sore rats and I saw that
Fake love, I don't fall for that
So when they call me I don't call back no more
I don't wanna hate myself no more, no more, no more
The call starts like any other—a routine fire.
But fires are never routine.
She hears the explosion before she feels it, a deafening roar that vibrates through her bones, followed by flames that erupt with furious intensity. Order dissolves into chaos in an instant.
Vic gets stuck. Of course, Maya stays behind to help her. That’s what she does. She pulls Vic free, ignoring the screaming ache in her muscles and the burn in her lungs. One more tug, and Vic is clear. Relief should wash over her, but it doesn’t—not yet.
A faint, high-pitched cry cuts through the noise. Maya freezes, her ears straining. Someone’s still in there.
“Go!” she barks at Vic, her voice sharp and unyielding. “Move it. Now!”
Vic hesitates for a heartbeat, her wide eyes meeting Maya’s, but Maya’s tone leaves no room for argument. Vic nods and runs.
Maya turns toward the sound, her legs carrying her forward before her brain can stop her. Every protocol, every ounce of training, tells her to get out. The building isn’t stable, it’s why she sent Hughes out. She knows better than this, going against protocol to safe a kid is what got her here in the first place. But what if it’s a kid? What if she waits too long?
The second explosion is worse than the first. The blast sends her flying, slamming her into the ground. The air leaves her lungs in a painful gasp, and debris rains down like punishment from above. Her ears ring as she struggles to push herself up, but when she looks around, her stomach drops.
The walls have caved in.
She’s trapped.
For a moment, she just sits there, frozen. Her breathing is ragged, her chest tight and every inhale felt like fire. Panic threatens to choke her, and then the thought creeps in, uninvited and unwelcome: Everyone hates you anyway. Wouldn’t it be easier to give up?
She squeezes her eyes shut, as if that will make it stop. But then another voice cuts through the haze—not her own, but Carina’s. Soft, steady, and so achingly familiar.
“You are more than your mistakes, Maya.”
Carina believes in her. Even when Maya struggles to believe in herself.
No. Giving up isn’t an option. Carina is waiting for her. Carina wants her to come home. Her wife wants her to come home.
Her trembling hand reaches for the radio. “This is Bishop,” she says, her voice shaking but steady enough. “I’m trapped. I told Vic to get out, but I’m stuck. I need assistance.”
Andy’s voice crackles through the line almost immediately. “Hang on, Maya. We’re coming for you, Vic is safe.”
Maya swallows hard, blinking back tears as she glances around the debris. The walls are pressing in, heavy and immovable. She starts clawing at the wreckage, pulling and pushing, but it’s no use. It won’t budge. Her hands shake harder with each failed attempt.
Finally, she sits back, her body sagging against the debris. Tears spill over, hot and unchecked. She yanks off her mask, gasping for air, but the smoke fills her lungs, sharp and punishing.
It burned, everything burned.
A scream tears from her throat as she slams her fists against the debris beside her, the impact sending shockwaves through her arms but leaving the debris untouched.
She pulls the mask back on, her breaths shallow and uneven. The radio feels heavy in her hand as she tries again. “This is Bishop. Come in.”
Nothing.
She’s trapped. Completely, utterly trapped. And all she wants is to go back to Carina. To the woman who knows her better than anyone, the woman who still believed in her when Maya had spiraled so far she didn’t think she could come back. Her wife who kissed her head and held her tight as she finally opened up about the pressure, the spiraling, the things she didn’t want to admit even to herself.
They’ve made progress. She’d called Diane. She’d opened up, let Carina in again. They weren’t fixed, not yet, but they were healing. Slowly, steadily. That morning, Carina had kissed her goodbye, her hand warm on Maya’s cheek, her voice a mix of hope and love as she whispered, “Promise me you’ll come home safe, bambina.”
Maya had promised. And she’d meant it.
Her vision blurs with tears as she thinks of that moment, of Carina’s face, the quiet strength in her eyes and the way she visibly relaxed when Maya told her “I’m trying. I’ll keep trying.” She can’t break that promise. Not now. Not when they’re finally starting to find their way back to each other.
She has to know I’m still trying.
Her hands tremble as she adjusts her mask, the tears slipping beneath it. She doesn’t want this. She wants to go home to Carina. She wants to be okay, she just wants to be okay.
She doesn’t want to give up on the life they are building together, if the world could just stop, just for a second. She doesn’t want to hate herself anymore, Carina loves her, her wife loves her, that can be enough.
Her voice is quieter this time as she tries the radio again. “Andy, I’m still here.”
The tears keep falling, hot and heavy, but the panic doesn’t go away.
She’s not ready for this to be the end, she promised she’d come back to Carina. They were getting back on track, she is getting better, getting the help she needs. For months she had been running herself into the ground, for months she considered resting in the clouds. And right when she wants to live again, life catches up with her.
It’s not fair, she doesn’t deserve this, but more importantly, Carina doesn’t deserve this. She’s already lost so much, her mamma, Andrea, all the failed attempts at getting pregnant.
Carina deserves better than losing another thing, deserves better than losing her wife.
So she gets up, she checks every inch again, hoping for a way out. Even the smallest space that she could break open. Any chance to get herself out of this death zone and back to the trucks, back to her wife.
But there’s no way out.
So she does the only thing she can think of, she presses her back against the wall, her body trembling as slides to the ground and lets herself feel everything—the fear, the pain, the desperation.
She closes her eyes for a moment, she’s surrounded by debris, the smoke filling the air, the temperature rising. But for a moment, she lets herself think of Carina. Of her smile, her laugh, her unwavering belief that Maya can be more. So she allows herself to hope.
Hope that her team will come and get her, hope that she will be okay
Hope blooms in her chest as she waits, listening for the faint crackle of Andy’s voice. For the sounds of footsteps breaking through the debris. For the promise that she’s not alone.
For someone to find her, for anybody to tell her to hold on, that she’s going home.
She holds onto that hope.
Hope that she makes it back to Carina.
It's a throwback to the old days
I slip back to my old ways (Old ways)
It's the wrong time to break (It's the wrong time to break)
It's the right time to breathe
Tryna catch your breath in a hurricane
Like tryna punch a hole in the cellophane
While everybody celebrates (While everybody celebrates)
They don't know I'm trapped
Show me how to numb the pain
Oh, Lord, oh, Lord
So I can finally celebrate
Maya’s voice cracks as she yells, the sound of her screams swallowed by the weight of the debris surrounding her. “Help! Somebody, please!” Her throat burns with every word, her voice raw from the smoke and desperation. She claws at the walls of her prison, hands trembling, but the debris doesn’t give. It looms over her, unyielding, uncaring.
Her breaths grow shorter, sharper. She tugs at her mask, shaking it as if somehow it could conjure more air. But she knows the truth—she’s run out. Her air is gone. Each inhale feels thinner than the last, a suffocating emptiness she can’t escape until she pulls it off. The air isn’t better, but it feels less suffocating. Even if it burns in her lungs.
Her heart pounds as she fumbles for her phone, her hands shaking so violently she nearly drops it. The screen flickers to life, the faint glow barely cutting through the smoke. For a moment, her thumb hovers over the station’s emergency contact list. Andy. Vic. Anybody. She could try to reach them.
But she doesn’t.
They can’t pick up, she realizes, the thought cutting through the haze. They’re in the middle of chaos out there. Her team—her family—they’re already doing everything they can to get her out. Calling them would just distract them, maybe even slow them down. The last thing they need is one more thing pulling their focus.
She swallows hard, the tears burning her eyes. For once, she can’t let herself lean on them. Not this time.
Her thumb shakes as it hovers over Carina’s name instead. What could she even say? What could possibly make this okay?
But she presses the call button anyway.
It rings once. Twice. Three times. Each second stretches endlessly, her heart sinking with every tone. And then it goes to voicemail.
Carina’s voice on the automated message plays, she clings to it, familiar and distant, before the beep cuts through the static in her mind. Her tears spill faster now, hot streaks down her soot-stained cheeks. She grips the phone tightly, bringing it closer to her face as though the proximity could somehow make Carina hear her.
“Hi, my love,” she whispers, her voice trembling but still full of love. “I— I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry I’m doing this to you.”
Her voice breaks, and the tears come harder, her chest heaving as she struggles to keep speaking. “I love you so much, Carina. Ti amo… per sempre.”
She pauses, the silence broken only by the faint crackling of flames around her. She wipes at her face, even though it’s useless. Her hands are shaking, her body trembling with fear, exhaustion, and the unbearable weight of everything left unsaid.
“You’ve made me so happy,” she chokes out, her voice thick with emotion. “I want this life with you so badly. I want to fight. I swear I do. But I’m stuck. I’m so stuck, and I— I don’t want to join the clouds. I don’t want to celebrate joining them.”
Her shoulders shake as a sob escapes her. She presses the phone tighter against her ear, closing her eyes as if she can picture Carina on the other end, listening, waiting, holding her through this moment.
“I want everything with you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible now. “I want to grow old with you, to- to see what we could build together. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep in your arms every night. I want us to have a family, Carina. I want us to be the kind of parents we didn’t get to have, the kind that show their kids what love really looks like. You and me, building something beautiful.”
Her voice catches on a sob, her breathing uneven as she wipes at her tears. “I’ve thought about us sitting on a porch somewhere, years from now, watching the sun set and laughing about how much we’ve been through. I want to spend a lifetime proving to you that I could be better, that I could be someone you’re proud to love. I want to dance with you in our kitchen again. I want us to have more mornings like today—peaceful, full of love and hope.”
Her fingers tighten around the phone again, as though holding it could somehow hold onto Carina. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers again. “I’m sorry for all the times I made you doubt that I wanted those things, for every time I let you down. You deserve better, Carina, and I was trying—am trying—to be better. I’m not giving up, I promise. But if I don’t make it… if this is it…”
“But if I can’t—” Her voice falters, and she forces herself to keep going. “If I can’t make it back to you, I want people to celebrate my life. Not just mourn, okay? I don’t know how much the team still likes me, but… if it’s okay with you, I want them to celebrate me too. They can be sad, they can cry, but I don’t want it to just be that. The last few months have been so sad. Let them remember me happy, like we were this morning. Like we’ve been trying to be again. If that’s okay with you.”
Her tears blur her vision, and she presses her forehead against her knees, holding the phone close as though it could anchor her to the life she doesn’t want to leave. Her mind races with memories: Carina’s laugh, the warmth of her hand on Maya’s cheek, the way she said “Promise me you’ll come home safe.”
“I don’t want to join the clouds, Carina,” Maya said softly. “I don’t want them to celebrate me joining them. I want to celebrate us, the way we were this morning. Happy. You make me happy. ”
Her voice shakes, the words tumbling out faster now, her tears making it harder to breathe. “Please don’t let this be the end for you. Keep going. Find happiness. You deserve it, Carina. You’ve always deserved it. And please—” She chokes back a sob. “Please celebrate my life. Let people remember me happy, not broken. Let them know I was trying, that I didn’t want to go out like this.”
She hesitates, the memories of Carina’s smile, her laugh, her touch flashing through her mind like a slideshow of everything she doesn’t want to lose. “Ti amo, amore mio. Sempre. Don’t forget that, okay? Don’t forget me. Please don’t forget me, my love.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers one last time, her voice breaking completely. “Ti amo, amore mio. Sempre.”
The voicemail ends, the line cutting off, leaving Maya alone with the silence and the suffocating weight of the air around her. She lowers the phone to her lap, clutching it like a lifeline as the tears keep falling.
She doesn’t want this to be the end. She doesn’t want to stop trying. So she lifts her head, staring at the debris around her with a fire in her chest that has nothing to do with the smoke.
“Come on,” she mutters to herself, her voice hoarse but determined. “Just hold on.”
She leans her head back, closing her eyes. She thinks of Carina. She thinks of hope.
She doesn’t know if anyone will hear her calls for help, but she holds on to the thought of Carina’s voice, her touch, her love.
And she promises herself she’ll keep trying—until she can’t anymore.
(Na-na, na, na-na, na-na, na, na-na-na-na)
(Na, na-na, na-na, na, na-na) 'Cause I don't know how to celebrate
(Na, na-na, na-na, na, na-na-na-na, na) No, I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't, oh, no
Carina’s day is chaotic. Emergencies, endless appointments, and babies who refuse to wait for anyone—it’s just another day in the life of an ob-gyn. But finally, in the quiet lull of mid-afternoon, she finds a moment to sit down.
With a sigh, she pulls out her phone, scrolling through her notifications as she sips her coffee. That’s when she sees it—a voicemail from Maya.
A small smile tugs at her lips before she even hits play. Maya. Her wife. The woman who has agreed to therapy, who has looked at her with those vulnerable, determined eyes and promised she’d fight for them—for their marriage. It has been weeks since they’ve truly laughed together, but this morning feels like a turning point. A kiss in the kitchen, Maya’s arms lingering around her waist, a whispered “I love you” that sounds like a promise.
Carina presses play, expecting something sweet, maybe a playful “I miss you.” But as the voicemail begins, her smile falters.
The background noise isn’t the station. It isn’t the quiet hum of the beanery or the gym. It’s chaos—crumbling walls, the eerie crackle of fire. Her stomach twists, a cold dread spreading through her veins as Maya’s voice comes through.
“Hi, my love.”
No.
No, no, no.
Her smile drops, her breath hitches, and her coffee slips from her hand, crashing onto the floor as her trembling fingers clutch the phone tighter.
This can’t be.
She checks the timestamp.
Thirty minutes ago.
No.
It’s only been thirty minutes. Surely, surely she’s okay.
Carina’s heart pounds as Maya’s voice breaks through, shaky but heartbreakingly calm, and Carina can feel the color drain from her face.
“I— I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry I’m doing this to you.”
“No, Maya,” Carina whispers aloud, her voice breaking, the tears already welling in her eyes, blurring the screen as she presses the phone closer to her ear, her lip trembling uncontrollably.
“I love you so much, Carina. Ti amo… per sempre.”
“No,” Carina whispers again, shaking her head as if it could erase the words. “No, bambina, don’t say that.”
“You’ve made me so happy. I want this life with you so badly. I want to fight. I swear I do. But I’m stuck. I’m so stuck, and I— I don’t want to join the clouds. I don’t want to celebrate joining them.”
Carina presses a hand to her mouth, stifling the sob that threatens to escape. Her chest heaves as Maya’s words become shakier, more desperate.
The sound of flames crackling faintly in the background makes Carina’s blood run cold. She can picture it too clearly—Maya surrounded by chaos, by smoke and debris, but still thinking of her .
“I want everything with you,” Maya continues, her voice barely audible now. “I want to grow old with you, to- to see what we could build together. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep in your arms every night. I want us to have a family, Carina. I want us to be the kind of parents we didn’t get to have, the kind that show their kids what love really looks like. You and me, building something beautiful.”
Carina’s tears blur her vision as the words stab into her chest, each one heavier than the last. Her heart shatters as Maya’s voice breaks, as her wife—her strong, stubborn, fierce wife—sobs through the phone, her breathing uneven, her voice trembling with pain and regret.
“I’ve thought about us sitting on a porch somewhere, years from now, watching the sun set and laughing about how much we’ve been through. I want to spend a lifetime proving to you that I could be better, that I could be someone you’re proud to love. I want to dance with you in our kitchen again. I want us to have more mornings like today—peaceful, full of love and hope.”
Carina’s breath hitches as her hand presses tighter against her mouth, the tears falling freely now.
Maya’s voice shakes, breaking on every word as the message nears its end. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers again. “I’m sorry for all the times I made you doubt that I wanted those things, for every time I let you down. You deserve better, Carina, and I was trying—am trying—to be better. I’m not giving up, I promise. But if I don’t make it… if this is it…”
“No,” Carina says softly, shaking her head as if denying it can change reality.
She feels frozen and frantic all at once, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. The reality hits her like a punch to the chest: Maya is trapped. She is in danger. And she hasn’t called the team—she’s called her .
Because of course, Maya would. That is who she is. She is proving she will always choose Carina. Always.
“But if I can’t—” Maya says, her voice breaking. ”If I can’t make it back to you, I want people to celebrate my life. Not just mourn, okay? I don’t know how much the team still likes me, but… if it’s okay with you, I want them to celebrate me too. They can be sad, they can cry, but I don’t want it to just be that. The last few months have been so sad. Let them remember me happy, like we were this morning. Like we’ve been trying to be again. If that’s okay with you.”
Carina’s head drops into her hands, the tears flowing freely now. She has made plans to cook Maya’s favorite dinner, lasagna, to surprise her with wine and candles, to hold her wife close and whisper how proud she is of her. And now her wife is asking her for permission on how she wants to be remembered.
“I don’t want to join the clouds, Carina,” Maya says softly. “I don’t want them to celebrate me joining them. I want to celebrate us, the way we were this morning. Happy. You make me happy .”
“No, no, no,” Carina whispers again, as though saying it enough times can stop the universe from tearing them apart.
Maya’s voice wavers again, barely holding on. “Please don’t let this be the end for you. Keep going. Find happiness. You deserve it, Carina. You’ve always deserved it. And please—” Maya chokes back a sob. “Please celebrate my life. Let people remember me happy, not broken. Let them know I was trying, that I didn’t want to go out like this.”
The silence stretches for a moment before Maya’s voice returns, her words quiet but heavy. “Ti amo, amore mio. Sempre. Don’t forget that, okay? Don’t forget me. Please don’t forget me, my love.”
“I’m sorry,” Maya’s voice breaks completely. “Ti amo, amore mio. Sempre.”
The voicemail ends.
Carina stares at her phone, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her whole body feels numb, her mind racing as the weight of Maya’s words crushes her chest. She bites back a sob as she imagines Maya sitting there, surrounded by flames and debris, scared and alone but still thinking about her .
For a moment, she can’t move, can’t think—frozen in a haze of disbelief and pain.
How could Maya think she would ever move on? Her wife is perfect, she doesn’t want anyone but her wife, her beautiful wife. Who is lying somewhere in a building, and still tried to call the Italian. Maya who just asked her to not be remembered broken.
Her beautiful wife who can never see just how loved she is. Her Maya, who doesn’t know that Carina couldn’t forget about her if she tried.
She closes her eyes and tries to ground herself, her medical training and the memories of Maya’s endless fire rants kicking in for just a moment.
Thirty minutes. It’s only been thirty minutes.
That’s how long it has been.
She knows how quickly fires can spread, how oxygen tanks can fail, how people can be swallowed whole by smoke.
But she also knows Maya. Maya was a fighter. She wouldn’t give up.
Carina’s trembling hands dial Andy’s number, the phone ringing endlessly. “Pick up, pick up!” she begs, her voice breaks with desperation.
Voicemail .
She doesn’t let herself think about what those thirty minutes might mean. Instead, she sprints for the door.
She doesn’t care who she has to call, what rules she has to break—she has to find Maya. She has to get to her.
“I’m coming, bambina,” she whispers under her breath as she pushes through the hospital’s doors towards the ER. “Just hold on. Please, just hold on.”
Oh, no, no more, no more
(Na-na, na, na-na, na-na, na, na-na-na-na) Can anybody hear me?
(Na, na-na, na-na, na, na-na) Can anybody hear me?
(Na, na-na, na-na, na, na-na-na-na, na) No, oh
'Cause I don't know how to celebrate
Carina’s body feels like it’s been pulled through a storm, heavy, numb, and distant. There’s a hollow space where Maya used to be. She doesn’t want to break. She doesn’t want to crumble into a heap of grief and loss. But the world keeps spinning, and every breath feels like a betrayal. Why should I breathe, when Maya can’t?
The air in the room feels too thick, as if the very atmosphere is aware of her brokenness. Maya's team is gathered in the living room, and though they’re laughing, sharing stories about her wife— her Maya —Carina just sits there, frozen.
They talk about Maya’s fiery passion, her stubborn streak, the way she’d light up with any mention of Carina. But Carina, though she feels the tug of warmth in her chest, can’t bring herself to join. She smiles—soft, quiet—but the smile is a lie, a faint flicker of happiness she’s pushing down, swallowing whole.
She feels guilty for even letting herself smile. Isn’t this a betrayal? But no—this is what Maya wanted. This is what she asked for, in one of her last moments. Celebrate her, she had said. Remember me happy, not broken. So Carina swallows down the suffocating pain and forces herself to stay. She stays for Maya. She will do this for her.
But she can’t keep it up. The weight of it all settles too heavy, and she needs air, needs something, anything to escape this overwhelming ache that’s threatening to swallow her whole. She drags herself from the living room, moving through the house like a ghost. Every step feels like a battle, but it’s the only thing she can do. She makes her way to the bathroom, the cool tiles beneath her hands grounding her as she collapses against them. Her body trembles, but she doesn’t let herself cry, not yet.
The voices from the living room keep drifting to her—the team, their laughter, the way they speak her name, her Maya’s name, and how they hold onto her with their words. How can they talk like that, when she’s gone?
Her thoughts spiral, soft and broken, too weak to catch onto anything solid. I want Maya. I need Maya.
She presses her palms into the cool tile as though it could hold her together. Her phone buzzes in her hand, a lifeline she hasn’t let go of in days, the last thing Maya gave her, and now, as the sound of voices rises from the other room, she reaches for it again.
She opens her voicemail, her fingers trembling as she presses play, grabbing her necklace from underneath the shirt she was wearing, Maya’s shirt, and clutching tightly to the ring hanging from it, Maya’s ring. A part of her knows Maya would want to be buried with it.
Her wife never wanted to take her ring off, it meant everything to her. Well, everything after Carina. But selfishly she couldn’t let go of the ring. She buried Maya with her silicone ring, the one she wore at work, to still have a ring but not carry the risk of damaging their wedding bands.
She had whispered an apology to Maya when she put on the silicone ring again. In the hopes that she would forgive her for this selfish act.
She thinks she would.
"Hi, my love..." Maya’s voice, trembling, but still so soft, so full of warmth, fills the empty space. It’s the last time she’ll hear that voice—Maya’s voice—until the next life, maybe. The tears finally come, silent and unstoppable, as Carina closes her eyes, letting Maya’s words wash over her. It’s like a sweet ache in her chest, a tender feeling of connection she can’t quite grasp.
She slips back into the memory of simpler moments, when Maya was right there beside her, when everything still made sense. Now it’s just her, alone in this room, surrounded by memories that feel like they belong to someone else. Every breath, a struggle. Every inhale feels like torture.
Her heart clenches, tighter and tighter, and the only thing that keeps her tethered to this world is Maya’s voice. They celebrate her life, but Carina... Carina just wants her back.
She wants Maya.
She needs…
She needs Maya, she needs her home, her love, but the silence is louder than anything else now. It echoes through every room, through every corner of their house. The house that used to be filled with laughter, with love, with the rhythm of two hearts beating in sync.
But Maya’s heart has stopped, and so has Carina’s, in a way. She’s not sure she’s ever going to feel the same again. What’s it worth, this breath, this life, if I can’t share it with her?
She presses her forehead against the tile, holding onto the phone like it’s the only piece of her that’s left whole. And with that, Carina lets the tears come as Maya’s voice continues to fill the air, because this is the only thing that feels real anymore—the pain, the loss, the longing for the woman who was her world.
“Ti amo, amore mio. Sempre. Don’t forget that, okay? Don’t forget me. Please don’t forget me, my love.”
“I’m sorry,” Maya’s voice breaks completely. “Ti amo, amore mio. Sempre.”
It's a throwback to the old days (Old days)
I slip back to my old ways (Old ways)
It's the wrong time to break
It's the right time to
(Breathe, hurricane) Tryna catch your breath in a hurricane
Like tryna punch a hole in the cellophane (Cellophane)
While everybody celebrates