WELCOME TO THE SORRY-NOT-SORRY SERIES
Post-it notes. Spectacular implosions. Women who refuse to stay on the floor.
Here's the thing about a Post-it note. It's three inches by three inches. It costs a fraction of a cent. It's the paper you use to remind yourself to buy milk or call the dentist. It is not the paper you use to end a marriage, fire an employee, or deliver the kind of news that splits a life into before and after.
And yet.
The Sorry-Not-Sorry series is about women who receive that kind of news on that kind of paper — from people who couldn't be bothered to say it to their faces. Husbands who pack a suitcase before breakfast and leave five words on the kitchen counter. Bosses who hide behind smoked glass and make someone else read the talking points. These people are different. The cowardice is the same. And the women? The women are magnificent.
Not right away. First, they eat Oreos on the kitchen floor. They cry in parking garages. They narrate their own disasters in their anchor voices because humor is the last thing standing when everything else has collapsed. They are messy and furious and heartbroken and very, very funny.
And then they get up.
Each book in the series is a standalone novel. You can read them in any order. But the women share something deeper than a plot — they share the experience of being underestimated, dismissed, and left behind, and the slow, stubborn, sometimes accidental discovery that the life nobody planned might be the one worth living.
This book includes a fifty-three-year-old woman eating Oreos on a kitchen floor, a husband who drained every account and fled to Belize with a woman named Tiffani, a Post-it note on the fridge that says “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. Don’t try to call,” sixty days until foreclosure, a resumé that mentions crisis management involving lice and a live frog, a biological father who appears on the porch with a saxophone and a duffel bag, a best friend who categorizes wine by emotional crisis, a community college computer instructor with distractingly good forearms, a social media video posted with spinach in her teeth, a kiss next to a dumpster, a ficus that refuses to thrive or die, the most savage act of personal branding in human history, and the stubborn discovery that twenty-five years of running a household might actually be a marketable skill.
This book includes a veteran news anchor fired by Post-it note while a man hides behind smoked glass, a woman named Brinley with a podcast called Mindful Journalism, a husband who packed his suitcase before breakfast and wrote a second Post-it note that says “I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything,” a twenty-three-year-old girl in sneakers with no socks who has the courage to ring the doorbell, a seventy-two-year-old mother with a pottery wheel and zero filter, a childhood neighbor who waited on the other side of a leaning fence, a weatherman who speaks entirely in forecasts, a garbage bag used as a suitcase, five pregnancy tests lined up on a bathroom counter, a column about three women sharing one bathroom that goes viral, a kitchen table where toast is the protocol for news that changes everything, and six words on a yellow square that reclaim the cheapest paper in the world.
This book includes a woman fired from the company she built by a Post-it note stuck to a gift bag, a taupe silk scarf fished back out of the wastebasket because wastefulness is a sin in Dolly’s house, an eighty-three-year-old grandmother who believes in wooden spoons the way other people believe in democracy, a pound cake baked at two in the morning in a borrowed bathrobe, an intern who puts a glass of water in a stranger’s hand without a word and returns a year later to have it repaid with a lemon bar, four porch women who arrive every Wednesday at three with food and verdicts, a job application with seventeen text boxes and none of them big enough, a father’s tools hung at exactly the distances he measured, a kitchen stool with one short leg, a crib with a headboard curved to feel like arms, a bottle of honeymoon wine that migrates around the house for a year before it becomes a toast, a quiet carpenter turned antique dealer who proposes at seven-fifteen in the morning by setting a ring where the coffee cup should be, and one full name on the same cheap yellow square that ended a career — with three more words waiting on the back.
This book includes a calligrapher jilted six weeks before her wedding by a ballpoint Post-it stuck to two hundred invitations she addressed in her own hand, a man who couldn’t leave a crooked picture frame alone but left a crooked note, a bag of limes bought for a dinner that never got served, twenty voicemails including a free professional rewrite of the note itself, a seventy-eight-year-old great-aunt who wears her funeral hat to the post office and salutes the mailbox, a mother who irons court blouses and rules two drafts “actionable” without looking up, a cousin who can pull a confession out of a statue, letters paid for in stone fruit because you can’t deposit a zucchini, a letterpress owner who writes her name in pen because pencil is for people who cancel, two wedding guests who invent her a fiancé in Phoenix over champagne, a cancellation card with an open bar line that ends up on refrigerators all over Pasadena, and five words on the cheapest paper in the world, answered with four sentences on the best.
WHAT CONNECTS THEM
A Post-it note. A betrayal delivered on the cheapest paper available by someone who couldn't face the conversation. And the discovery — messy, hilarious, hard-won — that the woman left holding the note is stronger than anyone gave her credit for. Including herself.
The books are standalone. The women are connected. And their stories are just getting started.
COMING SOON
The Sorry-Not-Sorry series is growing. More women. More spectacular messes. More proof that the best chapter might be the one nobody planned for. Sign up for the newsletter → to find out who's next.