After the book signing ended, I sat in the park for a long time.
My phone buzzed. It was a message from Ryan, sent from an unknown number.
Ryan: Nina, congratulations on the great sales of your new book. I read every single word. I can't fault anything you wrote. It wasn't all a lie when I first fell in love with you, but later I couldn't tell the difference anymore. I can't tell what was genuine love for you and what became just the habit of observing you, of using you as material. I no longer know how to see you without an ulterior purpose.
Ryan: I know this isn't an apology, and I don't deserve your forgiveness. I just wanted to say that the woman you wrote about, trapped in someone else's story, is ten thousand times stronger than the one I wrote.
I stared at the words on the scree
