The novel is still saved as “final draft”

Dear Delyara, I finished writing a novel nine years ago. It took six years, three apartments, one divorce, and nearly every lunch break I had. I sent it to seven literary agents. Two did not respond, four rejected it, and one asked for the full manuscript before sending a kind note saying she could not sell it. I stopped submitting after that. The file is still on my computer under the name “final draft,” though I have revised it so many times that there are seventeen versions. My family introduces me as a writer. I correct them and say I work in insurance. At night, I open the book, change one sentence, and close it again. I tell myself the publishing industry is difficult, that timing matters, that perhaps I will self-publish when I have money. The truth is, rejection turned the work into a private room I am afraid to reopen to strangers. I do not know whether the book failed or whether I abandoned it before it had enough chances. Some dreams end because they are impossible. Mine remains on my desktop, close enough to accuse me every time I turn on the computer.