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Home is where the hurt is.

Hello.  I’m Jane Hunnicut, aged twenty-eight.
I grew up in Accident, Alabama but I’ve lived the past few years in London, England with the man I followed there from college.  To say I’ve distanced myself from my upbringing would be a bit of an understatement.  I love being a city girl and I’ve had my share of good fortune, but lately I’ve found myself in a bit of a slump.

I’m a novelist whose first book sold gangbusters, but the second book—notsomuch.
My relationship with my fiancé was flying high… until it wasn’t.
And to top it all off, my best friend disappeared... like before.
When I was at my lowest, the phone rang and in an instant, my life changed—
my family needed me.

After escaping the suffocating situation of my childhood, I am reluctant to return, especially since I’m already late on a big deadline.  In the small town where I grew up, I never quite fit in, but now after years away, I’m really going to stick out. And I’m not ready to face the ghosts of my past.

Meanwhile, my family and friends in Alabama think my life is perfect.

I’m in dire need of a comeback.  But my plan didn’t include coming back home.

Something tells me my life is going to get worse before it gets better.



 The COMEBACK GIRL daily serial will run July 1 - December 31, 2018.  The current day's episode will display for 24 hours (approximately 4am eastern to 4am eastern).  Set a reminder on your phone, fridge, or calendar so you don't miss a single day of COMEBACK GIRL!  And please share with all your reading friends! 

(As with the previous serials, 6 monthly e-novellas will be available for readers who want to catch up, read ahead, or binge read!)




November 13, Tuesday

I WAS MAKING some headway in Tyler’s room, emptying bins and boxes of stuff Mom had obviously bought because it reminded her of his childhood—untold numbers of baseballs, basketballs, footballs, plus various racquets, bats, and helmets.  There were at least three boxes of worn smelly athletic shoes, none of them Tyler’s size.  And there were bins of hunting and fishing magazines, as well as rusty tackle boxes full of tangled fish lures and rubber worms.  Some of it went to the garage for Junk Man Jim to peruse on his next visit, but most of it went into trash bags for the dump.

So far I hadn’t found anything else that might have belonged to Tyler personally.  But I had yet to make enough ground even to reveal his bed or boyhood furniture.

When the phone rang, I bit back a curse, loath to stop and lose momentum.  I wanted to get this job done so I could get back to writing, and back to my mom’s physical therapy.

I glanced at the phone and smirked.  The therapist Anne Warford.

A thump on the head from the universe?

I sighed and connected the call.  “This is Jane.”

“Jane, hello, this is Anne Warford calling to check in.”

“Hello, Ms. Warford.  My mother is improving some.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said politely.  “And what about you?”

I surveyed my red hands, so chapped and raw, it was painful for me to type on my laptop.  “I’m good.”

“So you’ve been able to control the compulsion to clean?”


“That’s good.  The next time you bring in your mother for a checkup, stop by—I’d like to see for myself.”

I frowned.  “You don’t believe me?”

She gave a little laugh.  “You misunderstood.  Of course I believe you—I just meant I’d like to see you and catch up.”

I relaxed.  “Oh.”

“And when your mother has recovered enough to consider therapy, maybe the two of you could come in together.”

I frowned.  “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Okay.   It’s just a suggestion.”

“Thanks just the same,” I said tightly.

“Sure.  Take care, Jane.”

I disconnected the call with the stab of my red, raw finger.  The nerve!  My mother had the problem, not me.  I was only trying to clean up her mess—literally. ~

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