Page 91 of Shattered

“A little,” he admitted. “You always get this dramatic right before you do something brave.”

“I am not brave. I’m spiraling.”

“Same thing, different outfit.”

I shook my head, laughing despite myself. “You’re impossible.”

He crossed the room then, close enough that my pacing finally stalled. His arms wrapped around my waist.“You don’t have to be fearless,” he said, softer now. “You just have to show up.”

I looked at him, a second ticked, then two, almost like magic, I felt the panic loosen its grip.

“You’re annoyingly good at this,” I said, the panic loosening its grip.

“At you?” His mouth curved. “I’ve had practice.”

I exhaled, leaning into him without thinking. “I hate that you’re right.”

He kissed the top of my head, unhurried. “You love that I’m right.”

I did. God help me, I did.

The next six weeks were obsessive painting.

I created six pieces for the showcase. Each representing something different. Loss. Isolation. Choice. Love. Growth.

I titled the collection “Seventeen Years” and didn’t explain the name to anyone except Axel.

Sarah visited with Gianna, who’d just returned from her honeymoon. They stood in my apartment studying each piece in silence.

Finally Sarah said, “This is the best work you’ve ever done.”

“You’re my best friend. You have to say that.”

“I’m your best friend which means I’d tell you if it was terrible.” She looked at me directly. “Your mother would be proud.”

Gianna nodded. “She’d be insufferably proud. Would tell every person she met about her daughter the famous artist.”

The comment made me laugh and cry at the same time—the exact combination grief always seemed to demand.

Three days before the opening, I went to Mom’s memorial garden.

The bench Daniel and I had installed overlooked her favorite flowers. The plaque read:Elena Santoro - She taught us to see beauty.

I sat and talked to her like she was there.

“I found your journal, Mom. The one you kept to remember things.” My voice caught.

The wind rustled through the flowers.

“I’m showing my work. At the museum. The one Axel built.” I wiped my face. “I’m terrified. But I’m doing it anyway, because you always said I was too good to hide.”

More wind. Stronger this time.

“I know you’re happy now. With Dad. No more disease. No more forgetting.” I took a shaky breath. “Bless us from there, okay? Me and Axel. Me and Daniel. Bless us the way you always did.”

The breeze moved through the garden, warm and gentle and somehow like a hug.

I chose to believe it was Mom—saying she knew, that she was proud, that she’d been waiting for me to finally see what she’d seen all along.