The Original Male Lead

Emma sat at the kitchen table, staring at her untouched mug of tea. The rain outside was steady, but her mind was anything but calm.

Eleanor sat across from her, looking at her hands. "I know you have questions," she said softly.

Emma raised her eyes, frowning. "You keep saying you wrote the story, but why? Why create it? Why drag me into it?"

Eleanor hesitated, then sighed. "Because my real life… wasn't something I wanted to stay in. Writing was my escape." Her voice wavered. "I was just someone's mistake. When I told him I was pregnant with you, he left me. No promises, no apologies. Just… gone."

Emma blinked, trying to absorb the words. "You mean Allan Whitmore?"

Eleanor nodded. "Yes. The real Allan Whitmore. The cold one." She paused, letting out a flare from her nose, "I was alone, Emma. I didn't know what to do. Writing became the only way I could cope."