Song for this chapter: Elijah Woods - Fingers Crossed on the multimedia.

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December 24 was an empty day, just like the past month had been. I was supposed to be at Sapphire Haven, working the night away with a heart full of memories and a restaurant full of laughter. But instead, I was here, in my bedroom, buried under the weight of grief.

I couldn't get out of bed. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling completely numb. Tomorrow would mark one month since Sign and Linc had died, and the reality of their absence still felt like a bad dream I couldn't wake up from. I was at peace with the fact that Sign had chosen Linc, that they had built a life together. I had accepted that part of it, but accepting that she was gone—dead—was something I couldn't come to terms with.

The knock on the door was jarring. I knew it was Tony, but I didn't have the energy to respond. Tony had been there for me, trying to pull me out of this abyss I'd fallen into. I heard him enter, and I could sense his presence, but I didn't turn to face him.

"Hey," Tony's voice was soft, almost hesitant. "I thought I'd come by. We've closed the restaurant for the day. We know how much today means to you."

I didn't move, didn't speak. The room was suffocatingly silent, and I was wrapped in a cocoon of my own misery. Tony sat down on the edge of the bed, his weight pressing into the mattress beside me.

"I know you're hurting," Tony said gently. "I know you didn't go to the funeral, and that you've been avoiding everyone. But you can't stay like this, Juls. You need to take care of yourself."

His words were like a distant echo, barely reaching through the fog that clouded my mind. I couldn't muster a reply, couldn't find the words to explain how deeply broken I felt. I just lay there, my body heavy, my mind adrift.

"I'm trying," I croaked, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't even know how to begin."

Tony's hand landed on my shoulder, a small, grounding touch. "I get it. It's hard. But shutting yourself away won't help. You need to face this, no matter how painful it is."

I turned my head slightly, meeting Tony's gaze. His eyes were filled with a sadness that mirrored my own. I wanted to say something, to make him understand, but the words wouldn't come. "I just can't... I can't accept that she's gone. I thought I was ready to let go, but this... this is different. I can't..."

Tony nodded, understanding etched into his features. "It's okay not to be okay. But you need to start taking steps forward, even if they're small ones. You owe it to yourself and to Sign's memory."

He stood up, giving my shoulder a final, reassuring squeeze. "We're all hurting, Juls. But we're here for you. You don't have to go through this alone."

As Tony left, I was left in the silence of the room, feeling even more hollow. The apartment was still, the quiet punctuated only by my own thoughts and the weight of my grief. I knew Tony was right. I needed to find a way to move forward, but every step felt like a betrayal of the memories I cherished.

For now, I just lay there, struggling to find a way through the fog of pain. The path ahead seemed impossible, and the emptiness felt overwhelming. But maybe, just maybe, there was a way to move through it, even if I couldn't see it right now.

When I finally woke up, it was already Christmas Eve. I lay there for a moment, struggling to find the energy to get out of bed. With a deep breath, I swung my legs over the side and forced myself up. The apartment felt colder than usual, the emptiness pressing down on me.

I shuffled into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower, hoping it would clear my foggy mind. Afterward, I made a half-hearted attempt at cooking something to eat, but I burnt whatever I was trying to prepare. The smell of charred food filled the kitchen, and I ended up tossing everything in the trash. It was just another small failure in a month full of them.

I settled in the living room, staring blankly out at the city lights of Manhattan. The view should have been beautiful, but all I felt was suffocated. I needed to escape the confines of my own despair, so I decided to go for a walk. The cold night air hit me like a splash of reality, but I welcomed it.

I wandered aimlessly, my feet taking me to familiar places without my conscious direction. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of Sapphire Haven. The sight of the restaurant was both comforting and jarring. I had avoided the place for weeks, not ready to face the memories tied to it.

I hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door. The warmth and light from inside greeted me, and as I stepped in, I was struck by the sight of the whole staff gathered there. Tony was there too, along with Julie and my parents.

Tony looked up from where he was standing behind the bar, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of surprise and understanding. "I knew you'd end up here," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "It's the same night you met Sign again after all those years."

I didn't reply. I just stood there, feeling the weight of the room press down on me. Everyone was doing their best to celebrate Christmas Eve, but their efforts seemed muted against the backdrop of my grief. The place was alive with activity, but I felt detached, as though I was watching it all through a foggy window.

The memories of Sign walking into this restaurant for the first time flashed through my mind. It was a moment filled with hope and possibility, a stark contrast to the emptiness I felt now. I quickly pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to linger on the past.

No tears came this time. I had spent the entire month crying and mourning, and now it felt like there were none left. I stood there silently, observing the Christmas cheer around me, feeling like an outsider in a world I once knew so well. It was a painful reminder of what I had lost and how much had changed in such a short time.

The restaurant buzzed with the warmth of celebration, but for me, it only highlighted the profound sense of loss that lingered. I was here, surrounded by familiar faces, but I felt more alone than ever.

Julie settled into the seat next to me, her presence a small comfort amidst the turmoil. She didn't waste time with hollow pleasantries or try to force a conversation about how I was holding up. She knew the depth of the tragedy; she knew how unacceptable this whole situation felt.

"I won't ask how you're doing," Julie said softly, her eyes filled with sympathy. "It's too much to process. I just wanted to check in and see how Ivy is handling everything. How is she?"

I glanced away, feeling the weight of her question. "I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I haven't spoken to her since the accident. She's tried calling me... a lot. But I haven't answered. I've kept my phone off."

Julie's face softened with concern. "You should reach out to her, Juls. She must be going through so much right now. She needs you, even if you don't know what to say."

I nodded, but the thought of talking to Ivy felt overwhelming. I could imagine her small, worried voice on the other end of the line, and the guilt that came with not being there for her was suffocating. I had been so consumed by my own grief that I'd shut myself off from everyone, even the one person who needed me the most.

Julie's hand rested gently on my shoulder, a silent offer of support. "I know it's hard," she said quietly. "But you're not alone. We're all here for you, and we'll get through this together. Just remember, Ivy needs to hear from you. She needs to know you're still there for her, even if it's just through a phone call."

Julie's words hung in the air, a gentle nudge toward something I wasn't quite ready to face. I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts.

"I know what you're saying," I said, finally meeting her eyes. "And I agree, Ivy needs to hear from me. But right now, I don't think I'm ready. I can't even show up for myself, let alone be there for her."

Julie's expression was one of understanding. "It's okay to feel that way. It's a lot to process, and you need time to find your footing again."

I nodded slowly. "I'm sure Ivy's in good hands with Karen. She's with family, and Karen's been great with her. It's just... I'm not in a place where I can offer much support right now."

Julie squeezed my shoulder gently. "Take the time you need, Juls. Just remember, when you're ready, Ivy will need you. And so will everyone else who cares about you."

I appreciated her understanding, even if I still felt far from ready to reach out. For now, I had to focus on finding a way to cope with my own grief before I could be there for anyone else.

As I sat there, surrounded by the faint hum of Christmas lights and the soft murmur of conversations, my mind wandered back to how quickly everything had changed. Just a year ago, Christmas was filled with joy and laughter. The restaurant was alive with the warmth of celebration, and Sign had walked in with that familiar smile that made everything seem right. It was a time of merry gatherings and hopeful beginnings.

But now, the world felt starkly different. This year, Christmas was overshadowed by loss and emptiness. The festive lights seemed muted, the cheerful noises distant. Everything that once brought comfort now felt like a reminder of what was missing. Time had moved on, but the sting of loss had left the season feeling hollow and unrecognizable.

It wasn't a merry Christmas at all.