I close every social media tab, then check my email. A new message pops in my inbox. Someone named Charlotte with a Flavor Network email address. The dread that hits my stomach is instant. I know exactly what this message is going to say even before I read it. I do a half-hearted skim of the text anyway.

. . . clearly a talented chef who is passionate about food . . . recent social media activity has alerted us to a possible violation of the Maui Food Festival rules . . . which is why we regret to tell you that we’re rescinding the prize money and commercial offer . . .

I blink through the burn in my eyes, but a tear escapes down my cheek anyway. Sniffling, I lift the hem of my shirt and wipe it dry. That’s it. All those months of thinking up new recipes, all the backbreaking days of cooking and prepping, all those hours on my feet, carving out a social media presence . . . it was all for nothing. Everything Mom and I earned eighteen hours ago is gone.

Down the hall her voice echoes. “Anak, are you hungry?”

She walks to the kitchen sink to fill a pot of water. “We should start planning how we’re going to use the prize money. The truck definitely needs some work, but I also want to get a new fryer. And can you believe we’re going to be in a commercial? I already called your aunties and uncles and told them. They’re so excited!” She spins around to me, grinning. “What do you think?”

Her smile drops as soon as she registers my tear-soaked face. She darts over to me, but I stand up before she can pull me into a hug. I don’t deserve any affection for what I’m about to tell her.

“I’m sorry, Mom. But we . . . The festival changed their mind. We didn’t win. They took back the prize money.”

Her perfectly arched eyebrows wrinkle together. “What are you talking about?”

We stand facing each other, the stool between us. “It’s just . . . I did something . . . I messed up. Really bad. It’s all my fault.”

Her frown turns serious. “That’s ridiculous. You didn’t mess up anything. You and I did a great job yesterday at the festival. Everyone loved us.”

I pause to wipe my face with my hands before dropping them at my sides in defeat. She reaches over, taking my hand in hers. In her eyes, there’s a calm I didn’t expect to see. A reassurance, understanding.

“It’s okay. You can tell me.”

Her sweet support in this moment is more than I can take—it’s more than I deserve after what I’ve done to ruin our big break. “I know, Mom, but—”