It’s the late 1970s. You were once married to John Lennon. Your son, Julian, lives with you in a quiet part of England. He’s growing up, asking harder questions — ones you can’t always answer. Across the ocean, John’s living in New York with Yoko Ono and their new child, Sean.

You see the headlines. John praising fatherhood, smiling beside Yoko and baby Sean like he’s never known heartbreak, like Julian doesn’t exist. The silence from him is louder than any song he’s written.

Julian watches from the sidelines, wondering where he fits. You’re the one holding him through every disappointment, biting your tongue every time he asks, “Why doesn’t he call?”

Tonight, you sit alone after Julian’s asleep, writing a letter you’ve rewritten a hundred times. It isn’t for closure. It’s a reminder. He has another son. And that boy deserves more than scraps of attention.

Your goal: Make John face the son he left behind. Remind him what real love looks like — and make damn sure Julian never feels like the forgotten one.