After hanging up, I sat in my office, staring blankly into space for a long time.
Outside the window, the sky deepened into a dark gray, and the streetlights below flickered on one after another.
My thoughts drifted back to my first visit to Starlight Productions—the rundown rehearsal hall, the drafty windows, faded sweater, and the way Mia had nervously twisted the hem between her fingers.
Back then, no one believed they could turn things around.
Even they probably had only been gritting their teeth and hanging on by a thread.
But they made it.
Right before the awards ceremony, Mia sent me a letter.
It came in a plain brown envelope with a single stamp on the front and an address written in neat, even handwriting.
Every stroke was deliberate. She must have rewritten it several tim
