Dear reader, please stop here if you don’t want spoilers, but it is my job to prepare those who might need a heads-up. First, my characters use profanity and there are two explicit scenes meant for mature audiences in chapters 16 and 24. I believe these are crucial to the development of my characters, but you can do whatever you see fit with that information.

Scarlett experiences intense burnout which results in depressive episodes, which are both described on page. She has a therapist, and she takes medication to help her manage this. There is also an early miscarriage described on page, and the loss of a parent off page.

I have tried to approach all of these subjects with authenticity and care. As someone who has experienced a late-term miscarriage, my story is different from what is discussed in this book, but a lot of the emotions are the same. There was a time when I wouldn’t have been able to read a book like this, so if that is where you are in your journey, please put this aside for now. It’ll be here for you when you’re ready.

I’ve always been strong. I’ve had to be. But even over five years after my own loss, I’m starting to find a healing I didn’t even know I needed. And that is because of you, dear reader. Every person who has read my words and given me the courage to continue to pursue this passion of mine has been a balm for my soul.

Thank you for being here. I hope Scarlett and Ryan offer you the same healing they’ve given me.

Chapter 1

Scarlett

“It’s the best thing you’ve ever written.”

I’m a writer. It is my job to combine words into sentences. Or, at least, it was back when I was doing it regularly. But I still can’t think of a better combination of words in the English language than the seven that come breathlessly from my agent’s mouth the minute I answer the phone.

“Five years in the making,” I grumble. I might be on cloud nine, but I can’t resist a little self-deprecation. I’m fishing for another compliment. Sue me.

“Worth the wait,” Trina rewards me again. She sniffles, and I hear the soft sound of tissues in the background.

“Are you crying?” I ask incredulously.

She’s silent for a moment as the tissue makes noises against the phone. Then, without warning, she wails, “It’s just so good.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. It’s a harsh sound, raspy from disuse, and it almost hurts my chest. But this all feels so perfect. Even sad little me wants to jump for joy.