I don’t chase him.
That’s the first choice I make that isn’t about Ethan.
I wake up on Sienna’s couch with Dominic’s coat clutched to my chest and the internet still calling me a homewrecker. For a second, I think about texting him. Thank you for the coat. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean Venice.
I don’t.
Because “I’m sorry” doesn’t un-trend a hashtag. And “I didn’t mean it” doesn’t rebuild a board’s trust.
So I do the only thing I have left. I start over.
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Week One.
I delete social media. All of it. i********:, Twitter, LinkedIn — gone. Sienna films me doing it, like it’s an exorcism.
“Good,” she says. “Now burn your phone.”
“Can’t. I need it for job applications.”
Job applications. Plural. Fifty-seven by Friday.
No one calls back.
Google my name and the fi
