A short, propulsive first novel about a woman coming apart inside a life that looks, from outside, like an achievement. Alma lives on a Vermont homestead with her husband and two small children, keeping chickens and sheep, buying secondhand furniture online, and reading the women writers she admires while her husband drives to his job at a nearby college. The domestic arrangement is the one she chose and it is slowly erasing her. Makenna Goodman writes Alma's interior voice at close range and high speed, moving between the labor of caregiving, resentment she cannot admit to, half-formed ambitions about making art, and an escalating parasocial fixation on Celeste, a woman she has never met whose online presence appears to represent everything Alma failed to become. The novel opens with Alma already in the car, driving through the dark toward New York, and the narration circles back through everything that led there. Goodman is acute on the specific texture of a life mediated by screens, where comparison is constant and the standard being compared against is itself a performance. She is equally sharp on the economics underneath, the way homesteading and creative work and motherhood are each priced as though they were leisure. Funny, uncomfortable, and formally controlled, the book resists the redemption its setup seems to promise.