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It had been six months, two weeks, and three days since Lena Luthor walked out of National City.
Six months, two weeks, and three days since the truth shattered everything. Since Lex told her. Since Lena looked at Kara — really looked at her — and saw not the woman she loved, not her best friend, not her partner… but a stranger. A liar. A coward.
Six months, two weeks, and three days since she said those final, fatal words that replayed in Kara’s head every single second of every single day:
“You saved the world, Kara. But you never saved me from you.”
And every single one of those days, Kara Danvers was dying a slow, quiet death.
She was Supergirl. The Girl of Steel. Invincible. She could fly faster than light, lift entire buildings, stop bullets with her skin, survive in the heart of the sun. She saved millions of lives. She was the hero the whole world looked up to, the symbol of hope, strength, and goodness.
But none of that mattered. Because the moment she took off the cape, the moment she closed the door to her cold, silent apartment, she was just Kara. Just the woman who lost everything that ever mattered. Just the woman who destroyed the only person she ever truly loved.
Her apartment was exactly as Lena had left it. She hadn’t moved a single thing. Lena’s favorite mug still sat on the kitchen counter, the one with the tiny cracked handle that Kara had bought her on their first trip together. Her books were still stacked on the coffee table, open to the pages she had been reading before she left. Her coat still hung by the door, smelling faintly of her perfume — that scent Kara had come to associate with home, with safety, with love.
Kara slept on Lena’s side of the bed every night. Buried her face in Lena’s pillow, breathing in what little was left of her, pretending for just a few minutes that Lena was still there, that nothing had changed, that she hadn’t thrown it all away.
Every night, after the sun went down and the city fell quiet, Kara sat at her desk. Pen in hand. Paper spread out before her.
And she wrote.
She wrote until her hand cramped so badly; she could barely hold the pen. Until the ink ran dry and she had to refill it three times. Until her eyes were swollen and red, until her throat was raw from crying, until every word she put down was soaked through with tears.
She wrote everything. Every single thing she had never had the courage to say out loud.
She wrote about the first time they met — Lena stepping into L-Corp, young, brilliant, fierce, carrying the weight of her last name like a heavy crown. How Kara had looked at her and thought: This is the most incredible person I have ever seen. How she knew, right then, that Lena was going to change her life.
She wrote about the fear. The paralyzing, suffocating fear that lived in her chest every single day. The fear that if Lena knew — if she knew Kara was Supergirl — everything would break. That Lena would see her as a hero first and a friend second. That Lena would be put in danger just by being close to her. That Lena, who had spent her whole life fighting to prove she wasn’t like the rest of her family, would look at Kara and see only another secret, another lie, another person who couldn’t trust her.
She wrote about every single lie she ever told. Every time she said she was busy when she was rushing off to save the world. Every time she made up an excuse to leave early. Every time she smiled and laughed and pretended, she was just a normal reporter, while half her life was a wall, she kept built high between them. She listed them all, one by one, crying as she wrote them, begging forgiveness for every single one.
She wrote about the nights they spent together. The late nights in the penthouse, eating takeout, talking about everything and nothing, sitting in comfortable silence. The way Lena would lean her head on Kara’s shoulder, trusting her completely, while Kara’s heart would beat so fast, she thought it would burst — because she loved her so much it hurt, and she was lying to her the whole time.
She wrote about the way Lena looked at her. The way Lena looked at her like she was the best thing in the world. Like she was honest, and good, and worthy. And how every time Lena looked at her like that, Kara felt like she was robbing her. Like she was a thief stealing love she hadn’t earned.
She wrote about the love. Oh, God, she wrote about the love. How Lena was the first thing she thought of when she woke up, and the last thing she thought of before she slept. How Lena was her best friend, her confidante, her safe place, her home. How she loved her more than the sun, more than the stars, more than saving the world, more than anything she had ever loved in her entire life.
Page after page. Hundreds of them. Thick stacks of paper, covered in her messy handwriting, stained dark with dried tears. She poured her whole soul into it. Every apology. Every regret. Every I love you she had swallowed back for years. Every I was scared and I was stupid and I would give anything to go back.
She spent weeks putting it all together. She bought the finest leather binder she could find, soft and dark, and bound every page carefully, like it was the most precious thing in the world — because it was. She went through her phone, her photo albums, her drawers, and found every single picture they had ever taken together.
There was the one from Lena’s birthday, both of them laughing, faces close together. The one from the beach, Lena’s hair blowing in the wind, smiling bright and free. The one from Christmas, standing in front of the tree, arms around each other, looking like they had everything they ever wanted.
She put them all inside. Tucked them between the pages, right where they belonged. She added the little notes Lena had written her over the years — thank you, you’re the best, dinner tomorrow? — folded carefully, saved like treasures.
She wrapped the whole thing in soft paper, tied it with ribbon, addressed it in her neatest, most careful handwriting, to Lena’s estate in the Scottish Highlands — the place she had gone to disappear, the place she had called home ever since she left.
Kara stood in the post office, holding the package in her hands, her heart hammering so hard she thought she would faint. She touched the wrapping gently, whispering to it like it was Lena herself.
“Everything is here. Every truth. Every feeling. Every part of me that belongs to you. When you read this… you’ll understand. You’ll know why I did it. You’ll know I never meant to hurt you. You’ll know that every lie was just me being terrified of losing you. And then… then maybe you’ll forgive me. Maybe you’ll come back. I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”
She paid for express delivery. Trackable. Insured. The fastest service possible. She needed it to get there as soon as possible. She needed Lena to know.
And then… the waiting began.
The longest, most agonizing waiting of her life.
She waited by the window every morning, staring out toward the horizon, willing the package to fly across the ocean. She checked the tracking number every hour, refreshing the screen over and over, watching it move from National City, to the airport, to London, to the Highlands.
Out for delivery.
Her heart stopped when she saw that update. She sank down onto the floor, clutching her chest, crying happy tears for the first time in six months.
She has it.
She has it now.
She’s holding it.
She’s opening it.
She’s reading it.
She imagined Lena sitting by the fire, opening the package, curious at first, then surprised, then softening as she read the first page. She imagined Lena crying as she read the apologies. She imagined Lena’s heart melting as she read about the love. She imagined Lena understanding. Lena realizing it wasn’t malice, wasn’t betrayal — just fear. Just love.
She told herself every single day: She’s reading it now. She’s crying now. She’s realizing I didn’t mean to hurt her. She’s missing me now. She’s going to write back. She’s going to call. She’s going to come home.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months.
Silence.
Absolute, crushing, deafening silence.
No letter.
No email.
No call.
No text.
No sign.
But Kara didn’t give up. How could she? She had poured everything into that package. Her whole soul was inside those pages. No one could read that and feel nothing. No one could read that and just… walk away.
Maybe she needs time, Kara told herself over and over, like a prayer. Maybe she’s angry. Maybe she’s reading it slowly, a little bit each day, taking it all in. Maybe she’s still hurt, but she’s thinking about it. She’ll reach out. She has to. It was everything.
She kept waiting. She kept hoping. She kept sleeping on Lena’s side of the bed, drinking from Lena’s mug, talking to Lena like she was still there. She lived in that hope. It was the only thing keeping her alive.
Then came the afternoon that broke her completely.
It was raining — cold, grey, relentless rain, just like the day Lena left. Kara was sitting at her desk, staring out the window, when her phone rang.
It was Jess.
Jess — Lena’s old assistant, her most loyal friend, the only person from National City Lena still spoke to, the only one who knew exactly where she was.
Kara’s heart leaped into her throat. She scrambled to answer, her hands shaking so hard she almost dropped the phone.
“Jess! Jess, hi! Oh my God, is it Lena? Did she send something? Did she say—”
“Kara.”
Jess’s voice was quiet. Tight. Broken. And unbearably sad. Just that one word was enough to make Kara’s blood run cold.
“Kara… I shouldn’t be calling you. She would be furious if she knew I was talking to you. She told me never to mention your name again. She told me you don’t exist to her anymore. But… I can’t. I can’t watch you suffer like this. You deserve to know. You need to know.”
Kara gripped the phone until her knuckles turned white, her breath catching in her throat. “Know what? Jess… please. Please tell me. Did she get it? Did she read it? Did she understand?”
There was a long, terrible pause on the other end. A silence so heavy it felt like it was crushing Kara’s ribs one by one.
“She got it, Kara.”
Kara let out a sob of relief, tears instantly spilling over. “Oh… thank Rao. Thank God. She has it. She knows everything now. She knows I never wanted to hurt her. She knows I loved her more than anything. She knows—”
“Kara, stop.” Jess’s voice cracked. Sharp, painful, desperate. “Stop. Please. Just stop.”
Kara fell silent, her heart hammering a frantic, terrified rhythm. “What… what do you mean? Jess… what happened?”
“I was there,” Jess whispered, and she sounded like she was crying too. “I was there the day it arrived. I brought it in myself. I saw the handwriting. I knew it was from you. I knew what it was. I saw how thick it was… how heavy. I thought… I thought it was good. I thought maybe you explained everything. That maybe you told her the truth, finally. That maybe this would fix it. That maybe she would read it and remember what you used to have.” She paused, and the next words came out slowly, painfully, like she was tearing them out of her own throat. “I watched her take it from my hands, Kara. I watched her look at the name written on the envelope — Kara Danvers.” Jess’s voice shook. “And I watched her face change.”
Kara froze. Every muscle in her body locked up.
“Her face went cold, Kara. Like ice. Like stone. Like she was looking at something dirty. Something rotten. Something she never wanted to touch again. There was no curiosity. No sadness. No anger. Not even hate. Just… disgust. Just finality.”
Kara whispered, barely audible, “No… no… she just didn’t know what it was… she didn’t know—”
“She didn’t open it, Kara.”
The words hit her like a punch to the chest. Hard enough to break bones. Hard enough to stop her heart.
“She didn’t open it?” Kara repeated, her voice hollow, empty, disbelieving. “What… what do you mean she didn’t open it? It was everything. It was my whole soul. It was hundreds of pages… every memory… every I love you… she didn’t even…?”
“She didn’t even break the seal.” Jess was crying now, openly. “She held it in her hand for maybe ten seconds. Just turning it over. Looking at your name. And then… she turned and walked straight over to the fireplace.”
Kara sank slowly to her knees on the floor, the phone slipping from her ear, her whole world crumbling into ash around her.
“She threw it in,” Jess said, and her voice was faint now, like it was coming from miles away. “She threw the whole thing in. The binder. The pages. The photos. The notes. All of it. Straight into the flames. She stood there and watched it burn. Watched every word you wrote turn black and curl and disappear. Watched every picture of you two smiling turn to smoke.”
Kara was sobbing now, great, heaving, broken sobs tearing out of her throat, her hands clutching her chest as if she could hold her own heart inside.
Burned.
Everything.
The day they met. The nights they spent together. The fear. The apologies. The hundreds of ‘I love you’. The photos. The memories. The whole story of their love.
Burned.
Unopened.
Unread.
Uncared for.
“She didn’t even blink,” Jess whispered. “She didn’t look sad. She didn’t look angry. She didn’t shed a single tear. She just… watched it burn like it was garbage. Like it was nothing.”
“And then?” Kara choked out, forcing the words past the agony. “When it was gone… what did she say? Please… tell me she said something. Tell me she felt something.”
Jess hesitated, and then she said it — the final blow, the thing that would be carved into Kara’s heart until the day she died.
“She said… ‘Anything she had to say stopped mattering the day she chose to lie to me instead of trust me.’”
Kara collapsed completely, curling up on the cold floor, burying her face in her hands, screaming into the darkness until her voice gave out.
All those months of writing. All those nights of crying. All that hope. All that waiting. All that love.
It didn’t matter.
None of it mattered.
Kara had thought the secret was the problem. She thought the lies were the problem. She thought if she just explained why, if she just told her everything, Lena would understand. Lena would forgive. Lena would come back.
But Lena didn’t care about the why. Lena didn’t care about the fear, or the excuses, or the regret. Lena didn’t care how much Kara loved her, or how hard it was for her, or how much she was suffering.
To Lena… the moment Kara chose to lie instead of trust… Kara lost the right to speak. She lost the right to explain. She lost the right to be heard.
Everything Kara had ever wanted to say, everything she had ever felt, everything she had ever tried to make right… was just trash to Lena. Something to be burned and forgotten. Something that never mattered at all.
Kara lay there on the floor for hours, until the rain stopped, until the stars came out, until she was cold and stiff and empty inside.
She thought about Lena standing there by the fire, watching her whole heart burn, feeling absolutely nothing.
She thought about all the nights she spent sleeping on Lena’s side of the bed, talking to Lena’s ghost, hoping Lena was thinking about her too.
She thought about how Lena had rebuilt her life, how she was happy, how she was whole, how she had erased Kara completely from her existence.
And she realized the cruelest, most devastating truth of all — the truth that would break her over and over, every single day, for the rest of her life:
I spent months writing you my whole soul… and you didn’t even bother to read the first line.