Page 318 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
It’s the end of it.
Of everything that’s been sitting inside me, heavy and tangled and unfinished, the fear, the anger, the grief, the shame, the wayit felt to be taken, to be broken, to be put back together piece by piece by hands that refused to let me disappear.
It’s all there. Every part of it.
Bled into the pages. Given shape. Given meaning, and now it’s not trapped inside me anymore.
My chest rises slowly, my breath catching just a little as I lean back in the chair, my hand drifting instinctively to my stomach.
“I did it,” I whisper.
Not to anyone.
Just… to myself.
Because I needed to hear it.
I did it.
A soft, almost disbelieving laugh slips out of me, and I shake my head slightly, reaching forward to save the document like I’m anchoring it in reality.
It’s done.
And I know,I know, this book is different.
This isn’t something I wrote to escape. This is something I wrote to survive, and something in my gut tells me this one is going to change everything.
My email tab is still open when I switch over.
I almost close it without looking. Almost. But something makes me pause.
Curiosity, maybe. Or instinct.
I click.
And blink.
Because, there are more emails than there should be. More than there ever are. My brows pull together slightly as I open the first one.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Agents.
Publishing houses.
Names I recognize.
Names I don’t.
All saying variations of the same thing.
We’d love to discuss representation…
We see strong market potential…
Your story has captured attention…
