20
After breakfast, I shot off a quick email to Elena and heard back within minutes. She expressed gratitude that I’d finally gotten in touch, because they had more than they could handle. She didn’t address any of my questions about her daughter or catching up. She didn’t ask why I never completed the previous job. It seemed our friendship was a thing of the past. She told me she could pay premium for a quick turnaround. I accepted, and she sent over the novel – a benign historical romance, something midlist and forgettable. It would be an easy job – no major plot overhauls – and it paid double the usual rate. It would keep me occupied for now, and I was grateful for it.
The hours with the manuscript flew by, restoring a sense of normalcy I hadn’t been sure I could reclaim. Purpose, eve
