Stolen Scripts, Shattered Life

lt like a physical blow. T

giar

asps. It stuck to me, a foul, sticky label I couldn't peel off. My fil

r fraud. Industry contacts who' d praised me days before now ghosted me. My working-class

ther' s voice had trembled with shame over th

last time the

lt crumbling around me. I stared at the script pages scattered o

Ethan Scot

and respected. He'd seen my f

ice a steady anchor in my storm. "Someone is

against the tide of hate. When it was all too much, h

g my hands. "A place where you can just create. For yoursel

being rescued from a sink