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It was the eighth year of my secret relationship with the genius director, Henry. He gave the Best Actress award that was supposed to be mine to Mia, the daughter of his driver, who'd only been in the industry for six months. As Mia passed by with the trophy in her hands, her eyes filled with pride. She whispered, "All I did was casually mention I'd never won an award, and Henry gave me this as a birthday gift. Face it; you just can't measure up." I couldn't believe it. I went to confront Henry. Henry just shrugged it off. He said, "Mia's still young, you know? Winning that trophy'll do wonders for her confidence and help her get her footing around here. Just let her have it. "Besides, your acting could use a little polish anyway. You'll get your shot eventually, so don't get so worked up over this." I felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over me. For me, there was no second chance. I'd promised my dad—if I didn't win this time, I'd head home and let him pick my future husband, no matter who it was.