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"Steph, have you heard the news that he's dead?”

Stephanie froze when she read Roberta’s message. Not because it was a single line with a link to the news of the "premature death of one of the most talented young pop stars" — she was used to the Caruso way of being direct — but because it had been so long since she’d thought of him.

They met by chance during a tour, when she was still playing heavy metal with her boys. He was handsome, charming, and wanted to be part of that life. Spencer found it amusing, but she saw in his eyes that he would “mysteriously disappear” if he insisted. Now, that life felt far away — though only two years had passed.

They lost touch. Months after all of them had died, he came back, swearing eternal love and loyalty. He didn’t expect that there was “a Caruso in every city” — eyes watching, ears listening, ready to report. Soon, photos appeared of him with other girls. Groupies, maybe. That alone wouldn’t have bothered her if not for the lie. Except for the boys and Johnny, everyone — not many, she admitted — had promised a life and love they couldn’t deliver.

Empty promises made no sense. Nor did monogamy that would hurt everyone. Exclusivity or happiness? To her, that wasn’t a question. Still, she sometimes wondered what might have been… But now… she sighed. Too late.

She glanced at the clock. Time wasted startled her; the past no longer felt distant. Her throat tightened, but she got up. She poured a heavy glass of whiskey, feeling the cold weight. Without thinking, she went to the window as the sun began to tint the sky orange and pink.

— To what has been, to what isn’t… and to what never will be.

She grimaced and drank it in one gulp. A silent toast, just for herself. Bitter and burning. A small, ironic smile slipped, though no one was watching.

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