Chapter 11
The silence afterward is worse than the hate.
No calls. No emails. No “next steps.”
I realize the show didn’t just end.
It dropped me.
I’m writing a new recipe when my phone lights up at 2:03 a.m.
ENRIQUE:
They offered me another season.
My chest tightens.
I put my phone back down.
I pick it up again.
I go to the camera roll and look at the last photo of us.
Was that real?
That connection.
That kiss.
That touch.
Did it mean anything?
