Chapter 88
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I didn’t know what to wear to a place where no one expected me there.”
I stood in front of the mirror at Aunt May’s, holding two shirts I hadn’t worn in years. One had paint stains on the cuff. The other still smelled faintly like Isabelle’s perfume.
I put both down and grabbed a plain white T–shirt.”
No ghosts. No history.”
Just me.
The art center wasn’t fancy. Peeling paint. Flickering hallway lights. Some of the tables wobbled. The whole place smelled like tempera and old construction paper.
But it was alive.
Kids laughed from the other room. Someone was testing a keyboard in the music class down the hall. A group of toddlers ran past me covered in glitter.
I breathed it in like air.
Linda, the program coordinator, greeted me with a warm smile and a clipboard.
“We’re thrilled you’re here. You’ll be shadowing Mrs. Kim for a few sessions before we hand you your own class.“>
“Sounds perfect,” I said.”
She led me through the studio, past drying sculptures and name tags, to the back where six kids sat at easels, painting like their lives depended on it.}
Mrs. Kim looked up. “You must be Callie. Welcome.”
I nodded, wiping my hands on my jeans like I’d already spilled something.”
The session passed in a blur. Paint. Spilled water. Someone cried over the wrong color of green. Another kid painted their whole face blue. I loved it.”
Then, just before the cleanup bell, a little girl with red braids tugged on my shirt.
“Do you have any kids?”
The room paused.}
Or maybe it didn’t. But I did.}
i looked down at her. She had a paint on her cheek, glitter in her hair, and she was completely unbothered by the question.
“I used to,” I said before I could stop myself.}
She nodded like that made sense. “You’d be a good mom. You don’t yell like mine.”
Then she ran off to help put away the brushes.}
I stood there, breath caught in my chest, surrounded by paper plates covered in fingerpaint and the faint echo of what I almost had.
Moments later, I was rinsing the last tray when the door creaked open.
I didn’t look. Just called over my shoulder, “We’re closed for the day.”}
But the voice that answered made my stomach clench.
“Doesn’t look like much of a class to begin with.”
I turned slowly.
Ava.
She leaned against the doorframe in white stilettos, her designer bag slung over one shoulder, oversized sunglasses perched on her head like a tiara.
She looked wildly out of place among the glue sticks and half–finished macaroni crafts.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I asked, keeping my voice even.
She stepped farther inside, her heels clacking on the old tile. “I was in the area. Thought I’d see where Marcus’s little runaway ended up. Cute setup. Real… humble.”
I went back to the sink. “Leave, Ava.“}
“Oh, come on.” She walked around the room like she owned it, fingering a child’s drawing taped to the wall. “I’m just curious. You really gave up that whole wife act to babysit strangers‘ kids for free?“>
“It’s not free. And I didn’t give anything up, I chose to walk away.“}
A laugh escaped her lips, sharp and cold. “Right. Because martyrdom looks better when you’re covered in paint and loneliness.“>>
I ignored her. She hated that.”
Then she spotted the easel by the corner. A child had left a tray of fresh paint sitting open, reds, blues, greens. Bright and untouched.
Ava smiled.
Before I could stop her, she reached over, lifted the tray and turned.”
A slow, almost graceful tilt of her wrist.”
11:15 AM
The paint splashed across my shirt and apron in a thick, wet smear. The cold shock of it hit first. Then the smell.
And then the heat in my chest.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped, stepping back.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said innocently. “Clumsy me.”
I tore the apron off and tossed it to the side, heart pounding.
“You think you can show up here, humiliate me, and walk out proud?”
She stepped close enough for me to see the faint smudge of lipstick on her teeth. “You walked out, Callie. You don’t get to be pitied and righteous. You left Sophie. You left Marcus. All for this?”
My hands curled into fists at my side.
She went on, voice low and venomous, “He doesn’t even talk about you anymore. And Sophie? She’s stopped asking when you’re coming back.”
She was lying. I knew it.N
“You’re desperate,” I said, quietly. “And you’re scared. That’s why you’re here.“}
Her smirk faltered.
“Because for all your makeup and perfect hair and fake sympathy, you know Marcus doesn’t love you. He never did. You were a distraction. A mistake he’s still trying to forget.“N
She slapped me.
Hard.
The sound cracked through the air like a snapped wire. My cheek burned instantly.
We stared at each other in stunned silence.
And then Ava turned, grabbed her bag, and walked out without a word.”
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