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A different man looks at me in these pictures.
His eyes no longer harbor anger but warmth and calmness.
He’s no longer a dark storm but a soothing breeze.
He no longer burns me down but warms me up.
He no longer raises walls between us but wraps me in his protecting arms.
His gray eyes gleam nostalgic as he teaches me to be a woman no longer tormented by her past. A woman watching the world with fresh eyes.
It takes a few more moments before I drag my finger over the screen and turn my phone off.
I glance at the nightstand, the box of books catching my eye. I set my phone down and pick up the box.
Back propped against the headboard, I check the books one by one.
The stories are captivating, drawing a vivid picture of a different world, filled with sensibility and emotion.
The stories are heartwarming and fresh and open your eyes to the beauty of this world, whether you’re young, old, or in the middle.
My heart vibrates with every word as I read the Lost Girl. And then it jumps with joy as I read the Baby Bear. Children’s laughter echoes in my ears as I imagine the fun a kid could have listening to that. And then my heart cries as I read the Glass Boy.
One particular paragraph catches my eye.
‘I look aroundand see a land of magnificent beauty.
Rolling hills and snowcapped mountains, shimmering rivers snaking through the forest, and flowers hugging the edges of the land. Children playing under the trees and beautiful animals roaming and grazing freely.
It’s all soaked in golden sunlight and wrapped in the whispering wind, yet all I feel is the cold glass stretching beneath my palms, holding me captive.
It’s like a bad dream that has no end.’
As I re-readthe Baby Bear, a drawing captures my attention. It looks like something I have seen before. Or something similar, at least.
And then I remember.
The graphics look like Jaden’s sketches, the ones he used to draw for Emma. I flip the book over and check the illustrator’s name, getting nowhere fast.
The author is credited with designing the graphics and the cover.
I run a search on the internet, but other than the promotional materials scattered all over her social media and her website, I can't find anything personal.
Not even a picture.
I shove the books back into the box, set them on the nightstand, and pick up the phone.
“Hey. Are you home yet?” I ask.
His voice drifts from the speaker.
“I just got in. Everything okay?”
The concern lining his voice makes me smile.
“Yes, yes. Are you free tomorrow night?”
My voice is loaded with emotion.
