AUTHOR'S NOTE:Welcome to I'M SORRY, BABY. This story is one I've been working on for a while, and I'm excited to finally share it with you. It's a bittersweet, heavy journey that explores grief, trauma, and the complicated ties that bind us, often in ways that are as painful as they are unbreakable.
There are some difficult themes throughout, including addiction, mental illness, self-destructive behavior, toxic relationships, and loss. Please take care if any of these subjects are triggering, and read at your own pace.
I'll be updating every Wednesday with three chapters at a time. The story is fully completed, so you can count on a regular release schedule.
Thank you for being here, and I hope you find something meaningful in Rue and Maya's story.
Sentencing is quick. Life. Possibility of parole in 20 years.
The words are sharp and cold, stabbing into him as he stands there, frozen, barely able to process what's happening. He hears fragments of the judge's voice drifting through the fog that's settled in his mind—callous disregard for life, history of violence, lack of remorse. Each phrase feels like a nail in the coffin, sealing him away from the life he'll never get back.
He forces himself to look toward the seats, even though he's afraid of what he'll see. And there, among the strangers and the angry faces, he finds her.Rue.She's hunched forward, shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands. The sight of her is like a punch to the gut. She looks broken in a way he's never seen before, her spirit fractured by everything he's done.
He wants to run to her, say something—anything. But he's frozen in place, and before he can move, they're already pulling him back, yanking him toward the door. Leslie reaches out, steadying Rue as she trembles, her motherly instincts wrapping around her daughter, shielding her from the world Nate has torn apart. Marsha, his own mother, doesn't even look at him. Her eyes are fixed on the floor, her face blank, refusing to acknowledge the son she's lost.
As they drag him away, he feels a cold emptiness settling in his chest. Rue was his last thread, the only part of his life that felt real, that felt like it mattered. And now he's leaving her behind, tearing himself away from the only person who ever saw something good in him, somehow.
The ride to prison is silent. He stares out the window, watching the city he grew up in slip away. It's strange, how everything seems so familiar and yet impossibly distant. He can still picture East Highland High, his house, the football field where he used to feel like someone. He remembers the front door of Rue's house, the way she'd lean in the doorway with that smirk, daring him to come closer, to let his guard down. Each memory feels like another wound, sharp and fresh, as if he's bleeding out right there in the back of the transport van.
They process him, strip him down to his most basic parts—his fingerprints, his belongings, his name. He's assigned a number, and just like that, Nate Jacobs ceases to exist. He's a prisoner now, a blank slate marked only by the crimes he's committed. His cell is cold and cramped, the walls closing in on him. The silence is oppressive, weighing down on him until he can barely breathe.
At first, he tries to keep his mind blank to avoid thinking about everything he's lost. But the memories are relentless, flooding his mind every time he closes his eyes. He sees Cal's face, twisted in pain, in terror, frozen in that final moment. He feels nothing—no regret, no satisfaction—just emptiness. But it doesn't stop Cal from haunting him, from lingering in the corners of his mind, taunting him with every sleepless night.
Days blur into weeks, and he feels himself unraveling. The nightmares come fast and hard, dragging him under every time he tries to close his eyes. He's back in his father's house, reliving that night over and over, the blood, the violence, the overwhelming rage that drove him to end it all. He wakes up gasping, drenched in sweat, the image of Cal's lifeless face burned into his mind. And when he's awake, he can't escape the silence, the emptiness that fills his cell, pressing down on him until he feels like he's suffocating.
He tries to keep Rue out of his mind. He tells himself it's better if she forgets him, if she moves on and finds someone who isn't broken, someone who can give her the life she deserves. But the thought of her keeps creeping back, invading his thoughts, haunting him with a different kind of ghost. He remembers her face in the courtroom, the way she looked at him like he was slipping away, like she was losing something she didn't know how to hold onto.
One night, when the loneliness is too much to bear, he pulls out a Polaroid she'd taken of them months before, in one of those rare, quiet moments where everything felt almost normal. They were tangled up in her bedsheets, her hair a mess around her face, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. She'd teased him about how human he looked, laughing as she snapped the picture. He remembers the warmth of her skin against his, the softness in her gaze, and how her smile made everything else fade away.
They'd been happy, in that fleeting, fragile way only teenagers in love can be. For a few stolen moments, he'd let himself believe in a future, in a life that didn't feel like a ticking time bomb. He'd let himself believe that he could hold onto her, that he could be someone worthy of the love she gave. However guarded and painstakingly won it had been.
But that's all gone now. All he has left is this Polaroid, a snapshot of a life he'll never have. He stares at it for a long time, tracing the curve of her face with his thumb as if he could reach through the image and feel her warmth one last time.
He flips the Polaroid over and scrawls three simple words on the back. I'M SORRY, BABY. It's nowhere near enough, but it's all he has to give her. He hopes that, somehow, it will bring her some kind of peace. That she'll know he loved her, even if he only said it out loud the one time. Even if he couldn't stay.
He mails it to her without waiting for a response. He knows he won't be around to read it if she writes back.
That night, he lies awake, staring up at the ceiling of his cell. The silence is thick, pressing down on him, wrapping around him like a shroud. He knows he can't keep doing this, can't keep dragging himself through each day with nothing but guilt and regret to keep him company. Every time he looks in the mirror, he sees his father's face staring back at him. He's become everything he hated, everything he swore he'd never be.
In the quiet, he whispers to the darkness, his voice barely a breath. "I'm sorry, baby." He closes his eyes, letting Rue's face linger in his mind, the way she looked at him like he was more than the sum of his mistakes. The way she'd believed in him, even when he didn't deserve it.
He waits until the guard rounds have passed, until the prison is still and silent, shrouded in darkness. With trembling hands, he takes the sheet from his bed, knotting it tightly. His heart is steady, his mind calm in a way it hasn't been since he got here. He knows this is the only way out, the only way to find peace.
As he stands there, holding the sheet in his hands, he lets himself remember Rue one last time—the softness of her skin, the warmth of her breath, the quiet mornings tangled up in her bedsheets, her laughter filling the room. He holds onto that image, that feeling, clinging to it like a lifeline, like something pure and unbroken.
In his final moments, he lets himself imagine a life he'll never have—a life where he could have been the person she deserved, where they could have run away together, free and unburdened. He holds onto that dream, that impossible future, as everything else fades away.
And then, finally, there is nothing.