Annika pinched her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose. “We need to really wow the investors to win EPIC. And the way to do that is to show them a completed—or nearly completed—prototype, which we don’t have.”

“But we have all the work we’ve done so far on it. We can show them that. And you said yourself that energy and passion are what matters! Do you want to work on the pitch together right now?”

Annika turned to her with a wan smile. How could she explain to June how she felt? The bank letter had just confirmed her worst fear: that she wasn’t fit to be a business owner, and everyone else seemed to know it except her. Maybe tomorrow she’d have the energy to rally and see a solution. But right now there was nothing but the bitter tang of defeat and the crushing fear of failure. Her business, her love life—nothing was going right. “I think I want to get some work done by myself,” she said finally. “Sorry, I just need some time.”

June studied her expression, biting her lip. “Okay, hon.” She nodded as Annika walked back to her desk on wooden legs. “I’m here if you need me.”

Annika wasn’t surprised to only get approximately thirty minutes of sleep that night, which were not only spent upright in her chair on her rickety little balcony but also happened without her permission. It was like her body was trying to shut itself down so her brain wouldn’t keep going around and around in panicked little circles.

Eviction.

Bankruptcy.

Eviction.

The words were a tinny heartbeat in her ears. She heard them when she got home, she heard them as she climbed the steps to her apartment, she heard them as she undressed. She had a feeling she’d never stop hearing them. Sitting on her balcony in the near dark, looking out at the cold city lights, shivering lightly in her T-shirt and boxer shorts, Annika felt like an enormous failure. No one in the world had ever failed this epically. This was it. This could be the end.

She picked her phone off the tiny table next to her and dialed, tears streaming down her face.

“Hello?”

“Daddy?” she said, her voice catching. “I know I missed our dinner Saturday night, but … can I come visit? Tomorrow night?”

A pause while her dad scrambled to understand what was happening; it was clear from his voice that he’d been asleep. “Of course you can,” he said at last. “You can always come home, Ani.”

She closed her eyes and let the tears flow.