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Falling between us The Light You Paint With
Chapter Thirty: The Light You Paint WithThe gallery on Prince Street was quiet before the doors opened.Elena stood in the center of it—barefoot, palms lightly sweating—watching the light catch on her canvases. The walls around her bloomed with color: not portraits, not landscapes, but moments—fractured, layered, alive.She had named the collection “Threshold.”Not because she’d crossed something.But because she’d finally chosen to.⸻Two Years LaterThe show was her first solo exhibition since returning from Chicago. Two years had passed, but not idly. They’d passed in sticky mornings and long nights, in tea-stained sketchbooks and lullabies sung under yellow kitchen light.She worked while Lila napped. Painted at midnight when Adrian wrote his lyrics. Some days she managed a whole canvas. Other days, just a few brush strokes. But she showed up.That, she’d realized, was the heart of everything.Art didn’t demand brilliance.Just presence.⸻The Room FillsPeople arrived slowly. Cr
Falling between us The Way We Wake
.Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Way We WakeThe apartment was still asleep when Elena opened her eyes.Sunlight stretched across the bed in soft golden ribbons, casting shifting patterns against the sheets. Adrian lay beside her, one arm tossed lazily over his eyes, the other curled around her hip.It had been years since she’d woken up in peace.No alarm.No gallery deadline.No looming sense of guilt or scarcity.Just the hush of morning, the scent of home, and the slow rhythm of a heart she knew better than her own.She reached for his hand and squeezed gently.“Morning,” she whispered.His fingers tightened.“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Still here?”“I better be.”He cracked one eye open and smiled. “Just checking.”⸻The Kitchen SymphonyBy the time Lila stumbled out of her room in a tangle of curls and blanket, the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and toasted bread.Elena stood barefoot by the stove, flipping pancakes with messy grace, singing off-key to an old soul
Falling between us When You Come Back
Chapter Twenty-Eight: When You Come BackThe train hissed to a stop at Penn Station.It was a familiar sound—metal sighing, brakes groaning, voices rising. But Elena didn’t hear any of it.All she could feel was the weight in her chest—the press of three weeks packed into her ribcage, ready to break open at the first sight of home.She clutched her bag tighter and stepped onto the platform, her eyes scanning the crowd.And then she saw him.Adrian stood just beyond the gate, hair mussed, guitar case slung across his back like a second spine. He wore the navy hoodie she loved—the one that always smelled like cedar and rain.Lila was in his arms.Wearing a red dress with tiny sunflowers on it.Waving.Screaming.“Mommy!”⸻The EmbraceElena didn’t remember running.Only that she reached them faster than she thought possible.Lila leapt from Adrian’s arms before he could stop her, nearly tackling Elena at the knees.She caught her daughter mid-sob, spinning her in a dizzy circle, tears s
Falling between us Before the Train Comes
.Chapter Twenty-Seven: Before the Train ComesThe final morning in Chicago bloomed with a strange stillness.The Lakeview studio was half-empty, canvases wrapped, brushes cleaned, portfolios zipped tight with finality. People moved like ghosts through the halls—saying goodbyes with wide smiles and weary eyes.Elena stood in front of her last piece, unfinished.It was bold. Fierce. A portrait not of a person, but of feeling. Swirling brushstrokes of red and dusk-blue bled into each other, anchored by a single white streak down the middle—like lightning, or a crack in glass.She’d titled it “Becoming.”⸻The Unexpected VisitJonah knocked gently on her studio door around 9 a.m.He wore his usual smirk, but it was softer now—resigned.“I came to say goodbye,” he said.She put down her brush. “Goodbye, then.”He looked around the studio. “You worked harder than anyone here.”“I had more to lose.”He nodded, folding his arms. “You could have stayed.”“I know.”He waited, but she said noth
Falling between us While She’s Away
Chapter Twenty-Six: While She’s AwayAdrian woke to the sound of soft humming.It was still dark out—just past five. The apartment was cold, quiet, still wrapped in the veil of sleep. He rolled over and reached for the warm shape beside him, but found only a tangle of blankets and a small stuffed elephant.Lila was already up.He found her in the living room, curled beneath the coffee table with a book in her lap, flipping through pages upside down.“Mornin’, sunshine,” he murmured.She looked up and grinned. “I readed the doggie story.”“That’s a good one,” he said, settling beside her. “But maybe we wait until the sun’s up next time, huh?”She nodded solemnly, then added, “Can we call Mommy today?”“Of course,” he said, pulling her into his arms.What he didn’t say was we called Mommy yesterday. And the day before. And three times last Sunday when you had a fever and refused to nap.But he understood.He missed her too.⸻Routine and RuinThe house had fallen into a rhythm, one held
Falling between us The Distance Between Them
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Distance BetweenChicago smelled like metal and promise.Elena stood outside the Lakeview Arts Institute, clutching her sketchbook like armor. The building was beautiful—brick and glass, with tall windows and wide hallways that promised space to breathe.For the first time in years, her days wouldn’t revolve around nap schedules or snack times.Just her.And that terrified her more than she expected.⸻The IntroductionTwelve artists. One cohort.They gathered in a circle on the first day, introducing themselves like they weren’t sizing each other up.There was Marisol, a ceramicist from Miami with hair dyed seafoam green. Damien, a kinetic sculptor who looked like he’d walked off a movie set. And Ava—British, blunt, and somehow already drunk on her third cup of coffee.Then there was Jonah.Painter. New York. Minimalist. Blue eyes like cracked ice.He looked at Elena like he knew she had something to prove.Later, when they were selecting studio spaces, he le
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