
"The first draft is just you telling yourself the story." -Terry Pratchett
At the gala, surrounded by flashbulbs and champagne, Victor leans in to whisper a "public" compliment. Elena looks into his eyes and sees only the cold reflection of the business deal he just closed. In that moment of immense luxury, she feels a crushing loneliness that no bank account can fix.
As she dresses for the evening, she finds an old, worn-out photograph tucked into the back of a jewelry box. It shows her and Victor ten years ago, sitting on the floor of a tiny, cramped apartment, sharing a single bowl of noodles and laughing.