Maddie sat beneath the golden ginkgo tree outside their shared apartment complex, her gaze fixed on the balcony of the 23rd floor. The plants and flowers on that balcony were her pride and joy—each one nurtured with care. But soon, they wouldn’t be hers anymore. Perhaps they never truly had been.
As the midday sun burned her skin, Maddie let her tears fall freely. She reached up to wipe them away, only to be interrupted by the buzz of her phone. A message from her editor appeared on the screen:
[Maddie, why didn’t you update yesterday? The readers are begging for the next chapter. You can’t miss another deadline!]
She stared at the message for a long moment before typing a curt reply.
[Okay.]
Standing with a wince, Maddie limped toward the elevator. Writing had always been her escape. Her current novel—a story of two children who grew up relying on each other—mirrored her own life in many ways. But unlike her story, the heroine in the novel was the one who saved the boy and the boy had fallen in love with her.
***
At her desk, Maddie opened her laptop and pulled up the comments section beneath her latest chapter.