I was Never Theirs

I stood in the quiet of my father’s studio, fingers trailing over the worn edges of his workbench, feeling the grain of the wood he had sanded down with care. This studio was all that was left of him now, tucked away in a forgotten corner of New York. The last real piece of him, right here, surrounded by the faint scent of paint and sawdust that still lingered. It was comforting, grounding—and somehow, unbearable all at once.

Today was supposed to be about honoring him, marking his absence on the anniversary of the day he died. But that was too simple, wasn’t it? Instead, Savvy’s antics had stolen any chance I had for a quiet moment alone with my memories.

I’d already decided to let go of the studio. As much as it hurt, I knew that staying here, trying to keep it as he left it, was only going to hold me back. My father’s work deserved more than that. But leaving it behind felt too final, like cutting the last string to him, even though I’d been trying to loosen that knot for years.

The buzzing of my phone interrupted my thoughts, the screen lighting up with a message from Savvy: “Could you bring me some clean clothes? It’s the least you could do.”

I felt my chest tighten, anger welling up as I stared at her words. After everything she’d done—the scene she’d caused, the way she twisted the truth, the way she’d cast me as the villain in front of everyone—she had the nerve to ask me for a favor? My fingers hovered over the screen, itching to respond, to say something biting, something that would cut. But I swallowed back the words. There was no point.

No, I thought. I’m not bringing you anything, Savvy.

Minutes passed. I tried to settle myself, turning my gaze back to the studio, the bits and pieces he’d left behind, but the stillness didn’t last long. My phone lit up again, this time with a call from Nicolas. I considered ignoring it, but something in me—the part that couldn’t ignore him, no matter how much I wanted to—made me answer.

“Sabrina,” he said, without preamble, “could you please bring some clothes to the hospital for Savvy? She’s been asking for hours now.”

I let out a cold laugh, though the sound felt foreign even to me. “She already texted me,” I replied, my voice colder than I intended. “And I’m not bringing her anything.”

There was a beat of silence, long enough for his sigh to slip through. “Sabrina, don’t be like this,” he said eventually, his voice edged with irritation. “She’s at the hospital, and you can’t even bring her a change of clothes?”

I tightened my grip on the phone. “She’s got both of you there to look after her, doesn’t she? Why should she need anything from me?”

A tense silence stretched between us, neither of us willing to give in. Finally, I hung up, the familiar anger and hurt mixing in my chest like oil and water, making it hard to breathe. I wasn’t going to play along, not this time. If they couldn’t see the truth by now, then maybe they never would.

A knock sounded at the door not long after. I opened it to find Nicolas and Harvey standing outside, their faces serious, expressions unreadable. The sight of them—these two people who’d been with me through everything—only made my chest tighten more.

“Sabrina,” Harvey began, his voice calm, steady, but tinged with disappointment, “it would have taken you two minutes to bring her clothes. Was that really so difficult?”

Nicolas crossed his arms, his eyes hard. “She’s injured, and you’re refusing to help her?”

They exchanged glances, that silent communication they had always shared, the same one that had once included me. Now it felt like they were looking through me, like I was the outsider, the unreasonable one.

“Sabrina,” Harvey began, his tone measured, “it’s not like you to be this… inconsiderate.”

Inconsiderate. The word landed with a finality that left me feeling hollow. I glanced down, and my eyes caught on the bracelet around my wrist—the gift they’d given me on my eighteenth birthday. It had taken them weeks to find the right one, combing through countless stores in the city just to find something in my favorite style. At the time, they’d looked at me with such pride, sliding it onto my wrist as if it were a promise.

Their words cut deeper than I cared to admit, and I fought to keep my expression steady. My fingers drifted to the bracelet around my wrist. I could still remember the way they’d looked when they handed it to me, both of them so proud to have found something they thought suited me perfectly. They’d spent days searching the city for it, making sure it was exactly what I would love, a symbol of everything they believed I was.

But now, it felt like a pressure, a reminder of how much had changed since that day. The bracelet was the last thing connecting us, yet it felt foreign, almost mocking, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.

Without a word, I reached for the clasp, my fingers trembling slightly as I slipped it off and held it out in front of them. It dangled from my fingers, the small silver chain catching the light, as fragile as the bond we once shared.

“Sabrina… what are you doing?” Harvey asked, his tone softening, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

I kept my gaze steady, though the effort made my throat tighten. “The style doesn’t suit me anymore,” I said, each word feeling heavier than the last.

A moment of silence passed between us, the pressure of my words sinking in. Nicolas’s expression shifted, his brows knitting together as he took a step forward, his hand half-raised as if he wanted to stop me.

“If that’s the problem,” he said carefully, “we can find you a new one. Something that… fits you better.”

But I shook my head, setting the bracelet down on the small table beside me, watching as it lay there, motionless, like a ghost of something I’d already lost. They both stared at it, their eyes darkening with something I couldn’t name, a realization that felt too little, too late.

“Sabrina,” Harvey murmured, his voice laced with hesitation, like he wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t give him the chance to finish, didn’t wait for them to come up with some excuse, some reason that would justify everything they’d done.

“I don’t want it,” I said, keeping my voice steady even as a wave of finality washed over me. “Not anymore.”

They looked at me, both of them silent, their faces unreadable, caught off guard in a way I hadn’t seen in years. For once, they didn’t have anything to say, no words to fill the silence that had grown between us.

Nicolas reached out, but his hand fell short, hovering in the space between us, as though he didn’t know if he should touch me. Harvey shifted his weight, his gaze lingering on the bracelet, but he made no move to take it.

I turned away, stepping past them without another word. The house felt colder as I moved through it, each step echoing as if it were the last. I didn’t look back, didn’t wait to see if they’d pick up the bracelet, if they’d even understand what it meant. Maybe, in time, they would. Or maybe they wouldn’t.

Either way, it didn’t matter anymore. I walked out into the cool New York air, the door closing behind me with a quiet finality. I kept moving, feeling a strange lightness in my chest, as though I’d left something behind.