49 Heartbreaking News for Julia Roberts, We Announce…
500 words
The headlines broke like a wave against the calm shore of her carefully guarded world. Julia Roberts, America’s sweetheart, age 57, was sipping tea in the sun-drenched kitchen of her Malibu home when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
“Julia… call me,” read the text from her manager.
“Did you see Variety?” came another.
A third, from her sister: “I’m so sorry. I just found out.”
Her thumb hovered over the browser, dread curdling in her stomach. She tapped, and the words stared back at her.
“49 Heartbreaking News for Julia Roberts, We Announce the Sudden Death of Her Former Co-Star and Closest Friend, Dermot Mulroney.”
No warning. No preamble. Just loss.
The memories came like wind through an open door. Dermot, laughing between takes on the set of My Best Friend’s Wedding. His smile during press junkets. The long dinners where they talked about everything and nothing. He’d been more than a co-star. He was family. Her safe place in a world that never stopped watching.
They hadn’t spoken in a few months. Life had pulled them into different lanes, as it so often does. She kept meaning to call. To send a quick message. “Hey, just thinking of you.” But she hadn’t. And now she never would.
Julia set the phone down and stared out the window. The Pacific stretched endlessly before her, cold and sparkling under the morning sun. She remembered the last thing he’d said to her, at a party two years ago.
“You know what I love about you?” he said, a glass of red wine in his hand. “You still laugh like no one’s watching.”
Now she laughed through tears.
Her children tiptoed into the room. “Mom?” Hazel asked gently. “Is everything okay?”
Julia turned, wiping her face. “No, baby,” she said honestly. “But it will be.”
The day went on in fragments. Calls. Messages. Tributes flooding in from actors, fans, directors. Everyone had a story about Dermot—how kind he was, how funny, how grounded. But none of them knew him like she did. He had held her hand through her divorce. He had flown across the country just to surprise her on her 40th birthday. He had always shown up.
At sunset, she walked outside with a blanket around her shoulders, sat on the porch, and whispered into the wind, “I should have called.”
But then she imagined him beside her, smirking as always. “It’s fine, Jules. I knew.”
She smiled, broken and grateful. She would honor him—not with words to the press, but with quiet moments. With laughter. With kindness. The way he lived.
The world had lost a star.
She had lost a brother.
And even though it hurt like hell, she knew—he would never really leave her.
