Then she remembered Joey Kidney’s voice—not the actual author, but the idea of him. The way he talked about broken people piecing themselves back together without pretending the cracks weren’t there. She had read his quotes on a library computer once, back when she still had a library card.

Her phone buzzed. A rejection email from the tenth publisher. Another short story declined. She didn’t cry. She underlined a sentence she had written months ago: “The opposite of dreaming isn’t waking up. It’s giving up.”

“You don’t need permission to start over,” she whispered to herself.