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Our kids chatter. But moments later, our youngest, Kenzie, asks a question that stops me in my tracks, making me let go of my fork, which clatters to the plate.
"Mommy, what are all those creepy paintings in the attic?" Her eyes widen when she sees my pale face, and she looks at her brothers, smiling shyly. "Don't be mad... Sometimes we play up there."
"Now, Kenzie, you know you're not supposed to do that," Kade interrupts, his tone strict but gentle. "There's a reason your mother and I don't like you going up there. You shouldn't play up there unsupervised."
"But the paintings." Our son, Max, speaks up now. "They're so interesting, Daddy!"
"Those paintings are not appropriate for you to look at," I cut in sharply, clearing my throat when I realize I've been too harsh. "It's a story for when you're older, kids."
I reach for Kenzie's hand with one hand, and Theo's with the other. I wouldn't put it past my oldest to put them all up to this—playing in a space they all know is off-limits.
"I'm sorry," I mutter next, realizing I've been too harsh. "But I'm worried about you playing up there. Apart from the paintings, the flooring is rickety. You could fall and hurt yourselves."
"But we like it up there," Theo pouts. "It's fun."
"I just don't want you to get hurt," I repeat, looking at Kade for some much-needed backup.
"Your mother's right, kids," he adds solemnly. "It's not a safe space. From now on, if I hear you were up there, you're going to be punished."
The kids sulk but nod at him, nonetheless. He's always been the disciplinarian out of the two of us, and I'm grateful for his kind strictness. Kade reaches for my hand across the table, squeezing it to check if I'm okay. I offer him a brave smile, though I'm feeling nothing like my expression.
"Alright?" he asks worriedly, and I find it in myself to nod. I get up from the table abruptly and give him an apologetic smile.
"I just have to sort something out," I say quickly. "I'll be right back."
I can see the confusion in his eyes but also understanding. He gives me a soft nod as I leave the room, heading upstairs.
It's been a long time since I've been in the attic, and when I pull down the stairs that lead up there, I struggle and inhale so much dust I nearly choke on it. Climbing it slowly, I finally make my way to the neglected room. It's warm from all the windows in the roof, but the space is a ghost town. Everything is covered in dusty white sheets to protect our possessions from decay. But I know exactly what I'm here for as I step toward the easel in the middle of the room. It's the only thing not covered in a sheet.
It's the one thing I fear most in the world these days, but it's also a fear I know I need to face. It's one of Parker's works, a portrait of himself with Kade. A study of twins, Kade says he called it. The one he left behind in Kade's apartment when he came to live with me. There are bright red slashes on the canvas, signaling a troubled, angry mind.
I force myself to stare at it. To drink in the madness of the brushstrokes and the genius of those expressive eyes. I see so many things in there I should have seen years ago. Parker was a troubled soul, and I'm still living with the guilt of not getting him the help he so desperately needed.
I look at the portrait for a long time, and it surprises me that I'm not even scared of it. I've always feared it being in the house and dreaded coming up here for fear of seeing it. It's finally time to say goodbye to the past. Slowly, I reach for the canvas and turn it the other way around, moving the easel into the corner of the room. I pick a sheet from the ground and drape it over the easel, erasing my nightmares.
I stand there for a while until I can finally feel all my demons disappearing. Slowly, but surely, they scream and shout, but retreat to the dark corners in the attic, away from me and out of my mind.
I smile.
"What was that all about?" Kade asks me when I return downstairs.
"Nothing," I say mysteriously, and this time, the smile I offer him is perfectly genuine. "It was... closure."
He doesn't ask for more information, realizing I've told him all I needed to. Instead, he hugs me close to his body, and I listen to his heartbeat as we watch our children playing with their puppy. My eyes zero in on the twins. Maxim came first, screaming and shouting into the void when he was born. Kensington was born three minutes later, making her the baby out of the three.
