Joey had packed a bag—not because he needed it, but because it made the whole “I’m just going away for a bit” story sound more convincing. A small duffel, half-filled with clothes and a few essentials, just enough to keep up appearances. It was easier that way. Easier than trying to explain what he was really feeling, what he was really planning.

Leaving the house had gutted him.

Walking past Shannon, Tadgh, Ollie, and little Sean—seeing their tear-streaked faces, hearing them plead, one after another, “Don’t go, Joey, please don’t go”—was like walking through fire. Each of them held a piece of his heart, and every step he took away from them felt like that piece being ripped out. But he couldn't stay. He just... couldn’t.

He was too tired.

Not just the kind of tired that sleep could fix. This was something deeper, heavier. Bone-deep. Soul-deep. Joey was worn thin, his mind frayed at every edge, his emotions flickering in and out like faulty wiring. He had fought so hard for so long—for sobriety, for stability, for hope—but tonight, he had nothing left in the tank. No more strength to pretend. No more energy to plaster on a smile and say “I’m okay.”

Because he wasn’t.

So he walked. Just kept walking. Past streetlights and shuttered shops, past late-night traffic and glowing windows, until the noise of the world gave way to the hush of the riverbank. He knew where he was going all along. His feet had carried him there on autopilot, like a man with no other destination.

The bridge loomed ahead—silent, tall, familiar. It had a reputation in the area. Everyone knew it. People whispered about it in coffee shops and at bus stops. That bridge. The one where people went when they couldn’t carry the weight anymore.