I WAS SHOCKED by the praise my debut novel had received. The story that’s very near and dear to my heart had resonated with women all across the map. It was a scary feeling when I hit publish. Fear and anxiety knotted in my stomach. Panic welled in my throat. I was well aware that by writing Imperfect Truth my family’s dirty laundry was being aired, but every time a woman reached out to thank me for being so strong and for showing them how important it was to love themselves, I knew I had done the right thing. There was always a sinking feeling in my gut that I wasn’t the only woman who Ryder had misled, but once I’d hit publish it became apparent how far his reach had spanned. Constant Facebook messages crowded my inbox with words of thanks and support. Of course, I also received messages of the darker persuasion. Accusations and even being accosted by male authors believing the book was based on them. Strangely enough, the only message I didn’t receive was from Ryder himself and the uneasy feeling in my stomach settled.
