The plaid couch was scratchy against my legs but worn soft in the middle. I sat down hard, and for just a moment, just one brief moment, I let myself feel the weight of everything. The heater kicked on with a metallic groan.
You're twenty-five, alone in Montana, living off savings, with no plan past December. Drew has already moved on. Your follower count is hemorrhaging. Even the apartment was his.
My throat got tight. My eyes burned.
Then my phone rang—Bridget calling. I answered before I could overthink it.
"You made it?" My sister's voice was warm even through the speaker, and my 18-month old niece, Ivy, babbled in the background.
"I'm here. Hope Peak is gorgeous. My Airbnb is...definitely festive."
She laughed, the sound familiar and grounding. "You sure about this? Isaac's firm is hiring for their marketing department—"
"I'm sure. This is going to work, Bridge."
A pause. Then softer: "Love you. Check in later?"
"Love you too. Give Ivy a kiss from Auntie Candi. Talk soon."
I set my phone down and caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror across the hall. Long blonde locks of hair still holding carefully styled waves despite twelve hours in a car, blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion, mascara slightly smudged. At five-three, I barely reached most people's shoulders, which usually worked for the cute influencer aesthetic. Right now I just looked small and tired and lost. At least my extensions were holding up.
I stood, squaring my shoulders.
Okay. Enough. You didn't drive all this way to have a breakdown in a house that smells like it was sprayed with Christmas-scented Febreze. You came here to create content. So create content.
Grabbing my phone, I set up my portable ring light on the coffee table. I positioned myself in front of the Christmas tree, fluffed my hair, and checked my makeup in the camera. Tired but hopeful. Heartbroken but healing. I could work with that. The algorithm loved vulnerability after all.
Performing. Always performing.
I forced a smile and hit record.
"Hi loves! Guess where I am?" I made my voice bright and bubbly, the way it used to come naturally before everything fell apart. "I literally just arrived in Hope Peak, Montana—yes, that Hope Peak, the one trending as America's Most Christmassy Town—and oh my gosh, you guys. Look at this place!"
I flipped the camera to show the explosion of kitsch, panning slowly.
"I'll be spending the rest of December here, bringing you mySingle Girl's Guide to the Holidays. Ice skating, hot chocolate, holiday market, all the festive things. This is going to be amazing!" I flipped the camera back to myself, making sure to look excited. "I know it's been rough. But I'm here, I'm starting fresh, and I'm so grateful to have you all with me. Drop a comment—what's your favorite holiday tradition?"
I blew a kiss at the camera and stopped recording.
Then I collapsed onto the couch.
That felt so fake.
When I checked my phone thirty seconds later, the comments were already rolling in.
@sarahlovesbaking:You've got this girl! Fresh starts are everything!
@mountainmamalife:Hope Peak is GORGEOUS!
@tiffanysays:lol candi got spit out and now she's scrambling??
@kouturekween:guess her flava not so sweet??
My chest tightened. I scrolled past those last ones, looking for positive comments. There were plenty, mixed with the cruel ones. People were either rooting for me or laughing at me.
I turned my phone face-down on the coffee table.
Then picked it up again and checked my follower count.
