White Space Season 1

the day of the shooting)
    Morning

    Sarah woke up with the same hollow feeling that had haunted her every time she dreamed of Jon.
    Mourning the unspooled fantasy of a life spent together; with him and their daughter, Emma. One big happy family. The way it was always supposed to be.
    It had been nearly a decade since she’d seen Jon, and yet, after the dreams, it still felt as though he had only been gone for days. His wide smile, his gentle touch, his voice whispering in her ear, and even the undeniable sexiness of his scent were still so strong in her memory — fixtures in her mind as comforting and familiar as home.
    I have to stop watching his damned movies.
    It was always worse after the dreams. Months could go by and she’d be fine, going on, content — hell, even happy — with her life. But then something would happen to remind her of him. She’d see him on the news, run into his family, or sometimes it would be a face that Emma would make, and the next thing she knew, she found herself in front of the TV watching one of his movies and taking trips down memory lane.
    But the trips did little more than rip the wounds of his betrayal and her decision fresh open. And what-if’s served as salt.
    What if she had taken Jon back?
    What if she had told Warren to go to Hell?
    What if she had just let Cassidy do the time she’d rightfully earned?
    Had her wrong choice been right? And even it was, did right mean worth it?
    No matter how many times Sarah played what-if? , she always ended up feeling like the loser, filled with resentment, and mourning the best life she never had a chance to live.
    Sarah hated feeling bitter, or like a loser. She had done just fine on her own, great even, raising Emma as a single mom. Besides, it wasn’t as if there were any guarantees of a golden life, even if she had managed to stay with Jon. It wasn’t like he hadn’t cheated on her 15 minutes into his first flicker of fame. Who was to say he wouldn’t have done it again? Probably on repeat. Sarah had read the tabloids covering his many drunken exploits — indulging in women from costars to runway models. And then there were the drunken violent encounters with the paparazzi. How many cameras had he grabbed? How many photographers had he beaten up? How many lawsuits had he been involved in? Too many to count.
    That Jon was barely a shadow of the man she once knew. This fixture in People and Entertainment Weekly , and TMZ, was miles apart from the Jon of her dreams.
    She had made the best possible choice.
    So why the hell do I always feel so bad?
    Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the covers over her head, gifting herself with a few more minutes of self-pity before crawling from bed to begin her day, determined to return to her regular happy self before the first bell rang.
    Her door creaked open. Seconds later, Emma plopped on her bed. “Wake up, Mom,” she said in her usual song. “Time to go to school.”
    Sarah wiped her eyes as Emma ripped the covers from her head, smiling her giant I’m up way too early, with way too much energy smile.
    “Why are you crying, Mom?”
    Sarah was immediately embarrassed, like she always was when caught thinking of Jon. She never cared if Emma saw her cry, except when the tears were caused by the girl’s father — the father Emma might never know the truth about. “I had a sad dream, that’s all.”
    Emma stared at her mom as if she didn’t quite believe her. “About what?”
    “Nothing for you to worry about, Sweetie. Just a dream, baby. All ready for school?”
    Emma stood up and twirled, showing Sarah her blue and pink striped shirt and flared bottom blue jeans with the embroidered bottoms. “Readier than you! Just need to put my shoes on.”
    “OK, I’ll be out in a few minutes. Can you make me a bagel with butter?”
    “Regular or everything?”
    “Surprise me,” Sarah said.
    Emma’s right eyebrow arched with the weight of a sudden, great idea. “OK!” she said, then hopped from the bed and ran from the room.
    Sarah forced her feet onto the carpet, and then her body into the shower, thanking God it was finally Friday.

    **

    Sarah hit the bottom stair, then rounded the corner into the kitchen to find a dinner plate decorated with a bagel and a sliced orange, and a Snoopy mug brimmed with coffee, all of it arranged and displayed like it was waiting for a tip when finished.
    “Do you like your surprise?” Emma said, surfacing from the other side of the