Page 31 of The Hotel Room

Life got busy.

Kids. The house. James’s career.

And she hadn’t missed it. Not really.

Or maybe she just hadn’t let herself.

Kate set the canvas gently on the nightstand, staring at it for a long, silent moment.

What would it feel like—to paint again?

To pour somethingoutinstead of holding everything in so tightly she could barely breathe?

But what would she even paint?

You could start here,a quiet voice whispered inside her.You don’t have to finish anything. Just begin.

She hesitated, staring at the unfinished vines. The delicate floral sketches she’d drawn years ago.

And then she tucked the canvas away, back behind the picture frames, pressing it deeper into the shadows.

It wasn’t the time.

There was laundry to fold. Dinners to make.

She wasn’t an artist anymore.

She was just…Kate.

Whatever that meant now.

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Kate froze, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter as a wave of nausea crashed over her so fast it stole her breath. Her stomach clenched painfully, the back of her throat tightening.

Breathe. Just breathe.

She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the coolness of the marble beneath her fingertips.

It wasn’t that bad. She’d just moved too fast. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep.

The tension had been unbearable lately—the stress with James, the constant ache of trying to shield the kids from the fallout. She’d barely eaten more than a few bites at dinner last night, too knotted up with worry to finish the soup she’d made.

And now she was paying for it.

That’s all it is. Stress.

Kate forced herself to straighten, inhaling carefully through her nose, trying to push past the nausea. The smell still clung to the air, heavy and wrong, but it was fading enough that she could focus.

Lily’s voice broke the moment.

“Mom? Can I have more orange juice?”

Kate blinked, swallowing hard as she turned to see her daughter perched at the breakfast table, oblivious to the chaos swirling inside her. Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower, socks mismatched as she kicked her feet under the chair.

Normal. Familiar.

It grounded her.

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