"What do you mean it needs to be more edgy?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's great, but we need a bit more juice to it, doll. We need something that will captivate fans and non-fans alike. Every book has something: controversy, drama, romance, humor. A great book has everything, and I honestly believe that you could be the author of a great book."

It was a Wednesday afternoon and just like the days before it, I was in the Toronto office of a critically acclaimed publishing company. Since my days in the wrestling industry had come to a close, the glitz and glamour of my life was put to the side, bringing it out only when I graced the occasional red carpet or attended an event every now and then. The Trish Stratus of recent days was beautiful all the same, but the beauty came from a natural glow. With my hair swept back into a ponytail, a black turtleneck sweater that covered certain assets, and a face that lacked the pounds of makeup the WWE provided it with, my beauty was allowed to radiate in the form of my trademarked smile—the smile that was nowhere near the office I stood in with my publisher.

"So basically, what you're saying is that you want dirt, because it isn't enough to tell a heartfelt story about working your way to the top. It isn't like my story could inspire millions of girls; I definitely couldn't be anyone's role model. That would be ridiculous." If the sarcasm of this small blonde hadn't translated well to my young publisher, the deathly glare and crossing of my arms, a sure sign of my unamusement, had probably told him that I was hardly pleased.

"Trish," the man sighed, running a hand through his thick brown hair. "I'm not telling you to get rid of everything you have. In fact, you don't have to get rid of anything. All I'm saying is that you might want to think about adding more about you're personal life. Who is the real Trish Stratus? Does she have problems like you and me? How does she deal with and overcome those problems? Trish, I just want you to think about it. Promise you will?"

There was a moment of silence, as the man lifted his eyebrows persuasively.

"Fine," I begrudgingly muttered. "I'll think about it. Just don't get too excited, okay?"

No more words were exchanged and I promptly exited the building. As upset and irritated I was by the suggestion of including more scandalous material, I had to admit that as I sat in traffic, my mind was flashing through scenes of my life.

Scenes of tears cascading down mascara-stained cheeks as I was forced to say goodbye in the rain.

"Chris, you know I would take back everything I did to you if I could. I didn't mean for things to get this far. I didn't think I would get in too deep."

"Well, you did. You can't just erase time, Trish. One of these days you'll have to put the blame on yourself, and when you do maybe we can talk then but I just can't do it now. I'm sorry."

Scenes of blinding hate as wide-mouthed I caressed my cheek with a look of shock sprawled across my face, another painful lesson learned.

"You could never be my princess. You tried to do the impossible, Trish. You tried to force your way into a dynasty. You tried to pretend that you were something more than another tramp. I hate to be the one to tell you this, sweetheart, but you're nothing to me. Absolutely nothing."

And finally, a scene of heartbreak as I lay by his side, his arm pulling me into his chest, holding true to the promise that he would never let me go. I should have known that he was lying the whole time.

"Are you awake?"

I could feel his fingers against my skin, slide down my side as a chill ran through my spine.

"Mhm."

"I love you. I never think I say that enough. I'm not even sure if you can say that too many times. I just don't want you to forget it, okay?"

With a rush of emotions hitting me all at once, I couldn't help but contemplate the previous suggestion. After all, it wasn't dirt; it was my life. And it wasn't all bad either. Had it not been for the people in my life I would have never made it to where I am today. I would never have grown any stronger or any wiser. I'm not sure how he always gets to me like that, but I heeded the advice of my sometimes friend and publisher.

Four months after that meeting, my autobiography hit stores nation wide. Not only did it become a best seller but it elevated my career more than I thought it would. Talk show after talk show, I travelled the country sharing more of my stories and inspiring young girls across the nation. I took the time to visit schools and speak for organizations, and I even spoke with former employers and, more awkwardly, former loves.

Sounds boring, I know: the same old story about the star that tries to lead a life of normalcy but attempts to jump back into the action to shine the spotlight right back in her face. Trust me, this does not apply to me. The heart of my story, a far better story than my autobiography could ever tell, began on a quiet day at my home away from home, my apartment in New York. Phone pressed against my ear, my eyes bounced from the flat screen in my living room, which displayed some cheesy soap opera, to the bustling city below me. "There's this restaurant opening that I want to go to. Maybe we should get together? You know, like old times," I said, a grin plastered on my face. I had opened my mouth, ready to complete another thought when I heard my phone beep – call waiting. "Hold on, Stace," I said, pressing the button to switch to the other line.

"Hello?"

What I got in response was more than a hello; it was a heart attack. For a moment, I lost track of my breathing, nothing seemed to be able to operate correctly and I couldn't spit any words out. The graceful champion had been reduced to a speechless fool. But what would you do if a blast from the past became more than a chapter in a book? What would you do if your words were about to prove to be either your best friend or worst enemy?

More importantly, what would you do if the voice on the other line immediately pulled you into a warm embrace of the past?