Chapter Thirty: The Light You Paint WithThe gallery on Prince Street was quiet before the doors opened.Elena stood in the center of itâbarefoot, palms lightly sweatingâwatching the light catch on her canvases. The walls around her bloomed with color: not portraits, not landscapes, but momentsâfractured, layered, alive.She had named the collection âThreshold.âNot because sheâd crossed something.But because sheâd finally chosen to.âļŧTwo Years LaterThe show was her first solo exhibition since returning from Chicago. Two years had passed, but not idly. Theyâd 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, sheâd realized, was the heart of everything.Art didnât demand brilliance.Just presence.âļŧThe Room FillsPeople arrived slowly. Cr
.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 sheâd 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.âMorning,â she whispered.His fingers tightened.âMorning,â he murmured, voice rough with sleep. âStill here?ââI better be.âHe cracked one eye open and smiled. âJust checking.ââļŧThe 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
Chapter Twenty-Eight: When You Come BackThe train hissed to a stop at Penn Station.It was a familiar soundâmetal sighing, brakes groaning, voices rising. But Elena didnât hear any of it.All she could feel was the weight in her chestâthe 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 lovedâthe one that always smelled like cedar and rain.Lila was in his arms.Wearing a red dress with tiny sunflowers on it.Waving.Screaming.âMommy!ââļŧThe EmbraceElena didnât remember running.Only that she reached them faster than she thought possible.Lila leapt from Adrianâs 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
.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 hallsâsaying 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 middleâlike lightning, or a crack in glass.Sheâd titled it âBecoming.ââļŧThe Unexpected VisitJonah knocked gently on her studio door around 9 a.m.He wore his usual smirk, but it was softer nowâresigned.âI came to say goodbye,â he said.She put down her brush. âGoodbye, then.âHe looked around the studio. âYou worked harder than anyone here.ââI had more to lose.âHe nodded, folding his arms. âYou could have stayed.ââI know.âHe waited, but she said noth
Chapter Twenty-Six: While Sheâs AwayAdrian woke to the sound of soft humming.It was still dark outâjust 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.âMorninâ, sunshine,â he murmured.She looked up and grinned. âI readed the doggie story.ââThatâs a good one,â he said, settling beside her. âBut maybe we wait until the sunâs up next time, huh?âShe nodded solemnly, then added, âCan we call Mommy today?ââOf course,â he said, pulling her into his arms.What he didnât 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.âļŧRoutine and RuinThe house had fallen into a rhythm, one held
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 beautifulâbrick and glass, with tall windows and wide hallways that promised space to breathe.For the first time in years, her days wouldnât revolve around nap schedules or snack times.Just her.And that terrified her more than she expected.âļŧThe IntroductionTwelve artists. One cohort.They gathered in a circle on the first day, introducing themselves like they werenât sizing each other up.There was Marisol, a ceramicist from Miami with hair dyed seafoam green. Damien, a kinetic sculptor who looked like heâd walked off a movie set. And AvaâBritish, 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