I hadn’t written anything for nearly four or five days, and I was getting frustrated. I wanted to become a famous author. Wasn’t this way I was desperately searching for an editor in the first place? And now that my current editor was becoming indifferent to me, I could only feel this ache in my heart, and feel depressed.

But what about my novel and dream? The only thing I had right now was my novel, and if I were to ruin this too, what would I do in life? How would I live effortlessly?

So on the 23rd day, when I woke up, my husband was again absent, and...