“Oh,” Chloe said, brightening. “Marketing, mostly. Paid social amplification, influencer partnerships, a short film adaptation of stories like yours. Plus operational costs, of course. We’re a nonprofit.”

Across from her, a young production assistant named Chloe held a tablet and offered a reassuring smile. “Okay, Maya. We’re ready whenever you are. Just speak from the heart. The campaign goes live in six weeks. We’ll have trigger warnings, resources, the whole thing. Your face will be blurred if you want.”

The crew began packing up. Maya sat very still. She felt hollowed out, but not in the way she’d felt after David. That had been a violent emptying. This was a polite one, performed by professionals with consent forms and branded tote bags.

She hung the canvas facing the wall.