It felt impossible.
But when she looked at the canvas now, the sharp reds had softened into something else. A pale, almost hopeful gold weaving through the storm.
And she realized—
She wasn’t paintingjustpain anymore.
She was paintingsurvival.
This—this washers.
Not James’s. Not tied to the betrayal. Not even tied to the baby she hadn’t yet told the world about.
It was the first thing she’d donejust for herselfin longer than she could remember.
And it didn’t fix everything.
But as she stood there, hands stained with color, heart a little less heavy, it felt like a start.
------------------
The slam of the front door echoed through the house, sharp enough to make Kate flinch from where she stood in the kitchen, halfway through chopping vegetables for dinner.
Noah was home.
And from the sound of it, he was still angry.
Lily had been dropped off from choir practice an hour ago, already curled up on the couch, watching cartoons while her schoolbooks lay untouched. But Noah had been out late again, hanging with Emily, pushing his curfew more and more every week.
Kate wiped her hands on a dishtowel, bracing herself. She had tried—reallytried—not to push too hard, to give him space. But the distance was stretching too far, and she could feel it every time he looked at her with those cold, accusing eyes.
She heard the heavy thud of his backpack hitting the floor in the hallway before he appeared, looming in the doorway, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.
He didn’t look at her. Just stared past her, toward the fridge, jaw tight.
“Hey,” she said, keeping her voice gentle. “You’re late. Dinner’s almost ready—”
“I already ate,” he muttered, cutting her off.
Kate swallowed hard.Calm. Stay calm.
“Okay. You could’ve texted to let me know. I was worried.”
Noah finally met her gaze, but there was nothing soft in his expression. His eyes were sharp, guarded—so much like James’s when he was hurt but trying not to show it.
“Why?” His voice was flat. “Not like you care what I’m doing anymore.”
The words stung, sharp and direct.
“Noah, that’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” He crossed his arms, shoulders tight, the anger radiating off him in waves. “You walked out on Dad. You left. And now we’re all supposed to just…what? Pretend everything’s fine because you decided to come back?”
Kate’s stomach twisted. She felt the familiar ache building—the helplessness, the guilt she couldn’t explain without destroying his image of his father.
He doesn’t know. He can’t know.
“I do care,” she said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady. “I love you and I’m doing the best I can, Noah. For you. For Lily.”