Disclaimer – I do not own the story, the characters or even the actors.

Pairing – Sarah/Karl

Characters – Sarah, Karl, Harry, Karen, Daniel

NdA – This is not my first try, but it is my first translation. It sounded good in Italian, but I know I ruined all my work with this. Be cruel with me, I need to face reality: I'm NOT good.

By the way, I loved this movie so much, that I couldn't help writing something about that. The title and the sentence "How can you mend a broken heart" are taken by Al Green's song. I hope you will like "my" Sarah.

How Can You Mend A Broken Heart?

It is broken.

According to the sound, it must be at least a million fragments. A million heart fragments keep on leaping incessantly around her chest. They are supposed to be very tiny, but it hurts.

Sarah freezes behind her desk, her eyes fixed on her computer, her brain fixed on her work. Her work piled up during Christmas days, days she hoped she could waste there, behind her desk, trying not to think about that awful evening.

All was well. All was perfect, but her heart broke into a million pieces, ringing just like her cell.

How can you mend a broken heart?

"Sarah, with me" states Harry, passing lock step by her desk.

As a little soldier, she stands up and follows him, just as seven weeks ago, when he called her up to ask her to 'be kind with everybody' and make the first step with Karl. She knows he will get angry, just as seven weeks ago.

She knows she will feel even worse than seven weeks ago.

"What's up?" asks he, leaning against his desks and folding his arms, as waiting for her to reveal him Tutankhamen's secrets.


"Don't act dumb. Why aren't you running all over the room, screaming your love and flaunting an enormous wedding ring even to the coffee maker?" Well, Harry actually is a creative guy.

"I don't... uhm, Karl and I are not engaged." It has been two weeks since Christmas, something more since that awful evening she is trying to forget.

"What... what does it mean, that you're not engaged?"

"It means that... that we don't hang out. Not together" answers she, showing an unnatural stillness.

"Ok. What the hell did you do?"

"Hey, wait! Why should it be my fault?" speaks she up, angrily.

"Because it's not me who has been in love with our chief designer for two years, seven months, three days and perhaps one hour and half" says he, imitating her. "Even though we should recount it. It has been two months since then."


"No, Sarah. Hey, I love you, you're like a sister for me. Even though you haven't been with us for a long time, I want you to be happy" continues he, cutting her, suddenly serious and paternal. She immediately recognizes the worry between his words: she lost her father soon, when she still needed him, and in every man she looks for comprehension and protection... the same things Harry is showing her right now. "What happened? Karen told me he asked you to dance..."

"Yes" says she, sitting on a little armchair. "We danced, then we talked for a while, then he walked me home, and... we nearly made love."

"Nearly? You made love, or you didn't."

"We didn't."

His eyes start rolling in a very dangerous way. "Did you turn your mobile off, didn't you?" asks he, already knowing the answer.

"Harry, you... you know, he's my brother... I couldn't..." complains she, standing up.

"What did he want?"

"He wanted... he wanted to talk with the Pope" whisper she, with some shame. Not shame for her brother's status, but for her impossibility to leave that responsibility to someone else. "He wanted an exorcism."

Harry shows her his forefinger, inviting her not to talk. "So, you left a naked man in your bed – the man of your life – because your brother wanted to be exorcised by the Pope?" He has the extraordinary ability to show the truth in all its ugliness.

"He wasn't naked. Not yet."

"Get lost" says he, sitting down on his own armchair. "Come back to work, and think about your foolishness. I'll try to save whatever is possible."

"No, Harry" states she, putting her hand on the desk. "I don't want you to do anything. I don't want him to see me as a stupid teenager that doesn't know how to manage her life."

"It doesn't seem to me you got something more" states he, looking her in a sarcastic way. "Now, go. I'm busy. Work."

Sarah comes back to her desk, now void of any Christmas gadget. She threw all away on New Year's second morning, trying to throw all her memories away – bad ones and good ones. Despite this, she forgot nothing: not that evening, nor the embarrassment when her eyes meet Karl's ones – it does not happen very often, luckily.

While trying to pay attention on her work, she sees Karl standing up and starting walking towards her. She has got sweaty hands, she is thirsty and her heart is beating louder than a drum. But he is not looking for her. He outpaces her desk, looking quickly at her, and joining immediately Harry's bureau. The door locks, and Sarah turns towards it to see what it will happen. Meeting her eyes, Harry smiles and close the venetian blinds.

Sarah snorts, than comes back to work.

How can you mend a broken heart?

She words hard all day long, step by step, trying to pay attention on it. Her cell rings just once, at eight o'clock, when everybody has already gone. She does not want to come home: she is trying to avoid her flat, the flat when her and Karl did not make love. "No, honey, I don't think I can find Scientology's chief phone number" answers she, in a very tired way. Her eyes accidentally fix on Karl's desk: he is not gone yet, just like her. This could mean he does not have anything else to do, or maybe... No, Sarah, stop thinking about him. It's unhealthy. "No, honey, hey, I... I think we shouldn't talk so much, we..." She stops. Did she really tell her brother that... "No, honey, I love you, ok? It's just because I love you that I..." He cuts the call. She looks at the phone. Maybe this will be the beginning of a new life.

She comes back to work, but something catches her attention: Karl stood up. He wears his jacket, his coat, he takes his bag and turns off the lamp. Then, he starts walking towards her. He is actually coming towards her, now. "Good night, Sarah" says he, leaving a white envelope next to her hand.

"Good night, Karl" answers she, trying to look at him and not to tremble.

He leaves, and all it is left is a white envelope. And his perfume. His perfume, the perfume of his skin, the skin she keeps on seeing when she closes her eyes, like pieces of a ruined film. She closes them for a while, and she actually feel his hands on her chest, his lips on her neck, his eyes, so dark and shining... she opens hers, and she is behind her desk once again, alone in the dark.

How can you mend a broken heart?

The white envelope was not a dream: it is still there, next to her hand, her name written upon it with his tidy, perfect handwriting. She tears the envelope, and all she finds is a bare white sheet, written by the same hand. She is afraid, she is curious. She reads each word, she understands each feeling. She reads all again, and again, and again. Then she calls Harry.

"Hi, Karen. It's me, Sarah. Could I... could I talk with Harry, please?"

"Sure, he's just next to me. Harry, dear, it's for you. Sarah."

He snorts. "I won't find an exorcist for your brother."

"What did you say to him? To Karl?"

"We talked about the new advertising campaign. You know, for the blueberry chewing gum."

"You lie."

"And I made him understand that he should make the first move, if he's still interested."

"Ok. So you didn't tell him to... write me a letter, or something else?"

"Uhm... I suggested him to write you, or call you, or leave a billion red roses upon your desk, or to stalk you..."

"You can't be serious."

"I am. So, what does our enigmatic chief designer say, in his letter?"

"Oh, it's... it's simply wonderful. Nobody ever actually did something like that for me."

"So, share your happiness with me."

"No, I don't think you actually want to..."

"Yes, I want. Read it."

"Ok." She clears her throat, then she starts. "Dear Sarah, it's been more than two weeks since Christmas party, and you can't imagine how many times I surprised myself thinking about what happened. Or what didn't happen, as you like it. I thought so much about that evening that it should be wasted, right now. Maybe we ran too fast, that evening. Maybe I should have flattered more with you, before trying to sneak into your bed. Surely I should have. But I always was bad at those things, and for me talking with you, and dancing with you... I was trying to tell you that I liked you. This is why I was disappointed, after your brother called you. I was... I reached something I always dreamed about, and... and suddenly all was disappearing. My heart broke while you were talking with him. It broke into a million pieces. Fragments that hurt, and scream, and leap around my chest. From that evening I ask myself just a question: how can you mend a broken heart? How can you mend a broken heart? I still haven't found an answer. But if I learned something about you, it's that your just like me: so, maybe you can find an answer to it. How can you mend a broken heart?"

While she is waiting for Harry to say something, another man speaks: "Damn, he's poet!"

"Harry, who's that?"

"My brother-in-law. He's here with his fiancée."

"Your bro... the Prime Minister?"

"Yes. Oh, everybody here is listening to you."

"What the hell... so, everybody... oh, you, damned..."

"My children are there" says he, stopping her. "And I'm your chief."

She covers her eyes with her hand. The Prime Minister just listened to a letter with which Karl asked her to forgive him, and Prime Minister's sister is giving her the opinion she asked Harry. This is not normal.

"Sarah, I think he loves you. I mean, it's clear."

Clear? If it's clear, why did she take three years, a party and a letter to understand it? "What shall I do?"

"I beg your pardon" says Prime Minister, clearing his throat, "but I think you should talk with this man. I mean, it's not something you can solve with some words on a sheet. But this is my opinion."

"Oh, I... thank you, sir."

"Maybe Harry should give you his phone number. You could call... er..."

"Karl" says Karen.

"You could call Karl up and talk about it."

"Oh, yeah, it would be perfect!" says Harry, before giving her Karl's number.

Ten minutes ago, Sarah is looking at her mobile. She checks the number again. And again. And again. Then she calls.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

"Hi, it's Karl."

"How... how can you mend a broken heart? I... I don't know." She breathes. "Maybe we can find it out... together."