The Sea of Tears, Years of Pain.

The days had tucked themselves away like all the other secrets she kept. Still, she couldn't be bothered to get out of bed. In bed, everything was somewhat on pause. She could even pretend it was a dream. In that dream, she spent months generating draft after draft, until her agent finally said, "The book is ready."  If there was any time to say I didn't write this, that was the time. In fact, when the bank alert came, she could have returned it. When the artist called to confirm her preferred cover design, she could have preferred peace of mind to the lie she clearly wasn't built to carry.  She wasn't a complete idiot, half of the book was hers- which half? She didn't know. The lines hadn't just blurred, it was an entire fresco and she had painted all of it. The first book signing was also a good time to say something - anything. She didn't. The day went so well. These days her phone rang until it died. The emails she had bothered to look at were talking about movie deals, "a real bidding war over, The Sea of Tears, Years of Pain" her agent said with unbridled joy. Everyone was looking at how far she had come so fast, only she knew how far she had to fall.