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"Something smells delicious," her mother exclaims as she walks in.
“Hi, Nana!” Shaun leaps off the stool and runs straight into her arms.
Olivia lifts him onto his hip, asking, "How's my little grandson?"
"Good! I was showing Ricky how to make my favorite meal," Shaun proudly announces.
"You were?" Olivia glances at me, a knowing look in her eye. "How are you, Maverick?"
"I'm doing well. How are you?" I ask.
She gazes down at Shaun, her eyes then shifting to Scar. “I’m really good.” A gentle smile spreads across her face. Olivia leans in to kiss him on the cheek, then pulls me into a warm embrace. "It's so good to see you. Thank you for looking after them," she says.
I nod when she pulls away. "Always," I promise. She pats me on the cheek affectionately.
"Are you staying for dinner, Mav?" Olivia asks as she sets Shaun down.
I hesitate, not wanting to intrude on their family time. "Uh...I think I'm going to take off," I say.
"No!" Shaun cries out. "You promised you would stay." He pouts.
Scar shoots him a playful scowl. "Yeah, Ricky." She says in a mocking tone.
My heart melts at the sight of Shaun's sad eyes. "Okay, I'll stay," I say with a warm smile.
"Yay!" Shaun exclaims, wrapping his arms around my legs. I rub his back, feeling a sense of warmth and affection for this little boy.
Olivia engages in small talk with me while Shaun talks animatedly to his mom, who listens to him with rapt attention. I can't help but feel a sense of love and belonging in this family, knowing that they have captured my heart.
* * *
As soon as dinner is over, Shaun takes me by the hand and leads me up to his room. His walls are decorated with posters of his favorite superheroes, and a striking mural of all the Avengers can be seen behind his bed. The artwork is so impressive that I can't help but admire it.
"Isn't it awesome?" Shaun asks, noticing my fascination.
"Yeah...it's incredible," I respond, still in awe of the mural. "My mom painted it," he says with pride and affection.
I can see why; the painting is a masterpiece. Each character's face is so perfectly captured that it's almost as if they could step off the wall.
Shaun nods in agreement, then turns to rummage through his closet. "What are you looking for?" I ask, curious.
"My painting clothes. Mom doesn't like me wearing nice clothes when I paint," he says. After a few moments, he pulls out overalls covered in blotches of paint. "Got 'em!" he exclaims, holding up the overalls triumphantly. He scurries over to his bathroom to change, and when he returns, he runs down the hallway, shouting, "Come on, Ricky!"
As I follow him, I can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. The hallway is so familiar. I remember when Seth would chase Scar to her room with a fake snake, and she would lock herself in, or how she screamed bloody murder when he threw a dead moth at her. He would go to great lengths every day just to make her laugh. It was his favorite part of their time together, watching her eyes light up with joy and listening to her laughter fill the air. He loved nothing more than seeing her happy and would do whatever it took to make that happen. And I think about the moments I would sneak into Seth's room after getting drunk or the moments I would take care of Scar whenever she had an episode.
I feel a sharp pain in my chest, and I instinctively rub it, hoping to alleviate the discomfort.
As I make my way to Scar's room, I lean against the doorframe with my arms across my chest, watching as she helps Shaun set up his painting station. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me—a natural, genuine smile that makes me feel like her hero. I was her hero long ago, but now I'm determined to fight my way back into her life.
"Hey, are you coming in or what?" she asks with a smile before turning back to her son.
As I go further into her room, I'm struck by how much things have transformed since I was last here. The bed, once a modest full-size, has been upgraded to a luxurious king-size. Now sheer and a mix of delicate pastel colors, the curtains let in a gentle glow, casting a warm ambiance throughout the room. The ceiling is adorned with twinkling fairy lights that gracefully wrap around the edge of the headboard, creating a magical atmosphere that's hard to resist. The bookshelf, which used to be filled with her favorite novels, has been taken over by an impressive collection of paints and brushes, indicating her newfound passion for art. The mural behind her bed is breathtaking—a stunning depiction of the earth, painted in vibrant colors that drip into the sky, creating a beautiful, rainbow-hued mirror. In the center of the mural, the words "Paint how you see the world" are painted in bold letters, with a paintbrush thoughtfully placed beside them.
When I turn to the wall on the left side of the bed, my breath catches. She never changed it. I'm staring at a girl holding a boy in her arms, her head looking up to the ceiling with tears cascading down her face. The tears that drop to the ground have turned into broken musical notes. In the middle of the wall is a silhouette of a girl's body in white chalk, holding her face in her hands. The girl is surrounded by dark, red smoke, and a boy's tormented face is sketched in the smoke. Then, to the right of the girl, is a picture of a tree withering while a boy and girl sit underneath it.
As I turn my gaze toward Scar, I notice her expression—a blend of concern and a faint smile. Only then do I realize tears have begun to well up in my eyes. Memories of the past, the pain, and the guilt come rushing back like a raging wave.
Suddenly, I hear a small voice calling out to me—it's Shaun. "Would you like to paint with us, Ricky?"
