After too many tubs of dishes later, and he suspected his brother had dirtied a few to keep John there longer, John trudged upstairs at his parents’ modest house to his childhood bedroom. He pulled out his script, the work of his heart that he no longer owned. There was so much to do. He needed to apologize to Anna. He needed to figure out how to fix the mess he’d helped make. He needed to own up to what he’d done.

Flipping through the pages, John recognized Anna’s small looping handwriting. This was the draft that Anna had marked. Her notes were neat and meticulous, punctuated with smiley faces, exclamations and question marks, and helpful comments about budget and set concerns. She’d made it better. Her notes made it a whole and beautiful thing. He could write the words, but she could imagine it as a living thing off the page. She knew how to translate it to the screen in a way that John wasn’t prepared to do. Yes, he had some experience. But he also knew he had a lot left to learn.

The script might not belong to him anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t revise it just for himself, just to honor her. He could make it the way he wanted to—not on his own, but with the help of those he trusted.

Four hours later, he sat back in his chair and scrubbed his eyes. A new version of the screenplay winked back at him from the screen, and he felt an enormous sense of relief. Anna had understood what he wanted to do. With fresh eyes, she had discerned what it lacked where he couldn’t. She had given him the gift of perspective, and he was deeply grateful for it.

This was Anna as she essentially was at her core—someone who cared about him, who wanted to help, who had a vision, and who was willing to help him achieve his own. The Anna who was worn down by the industry and her ex-husband fell away in the face of this person who had become so precious to him. Maybe she didn’t fight back because she didn’t have anyone at her side. Maybe he should have asked for her help with the option, instead of pridefully wading into the deep end without really knowing what lurked there. Maybe they both had something to learn about asking for help.

John had to make things right. Even if she never wanted to talk to him again, he needed to try.