Stephanie’s footsteps echoed behind her as she climbed the staircase, her mind reeling with the events of the day—the letter, the jokes, the celebration, the memories—and now, what was waiting for her at home. Rose. The woman who had already taunted her about it being “just a cookbook” and not “the constitution.” Stephanie hesitated as she reached the door to her apartment. Her heart pounded in her chest. The excitement of the day seemed so distant now, like a fragile balloon ready to pop.
Writing has always been my escape—my way of turning pain into poetry and silence into stories. With your support, I hope to invest more time and resources into my storytelling journey: better editing, creating beautiful cover art, eventually self-publishing my novels, and maybe even bringing my fictional men to life in a cozy little paperback world. Every bit of your love helps me stay consistent, feel seen, and believe that my voice—though shaped by heartbreak—is still worth hearing. This is more than just writing for me… it’s healing, and I’m so grateful you’re part of it. 💖
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