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Charlotte's eyes welled up with tears as she studied the delicate lines of her sister's face. Roxanne's strong, steady gaze seemed to anchor her amidst the storm of emotions that threatened to sweep her away. A tear slid down Charlotte's cheek, leaving a warm trail in its wake as it landed on her hand. She clenched her fingers into a fist.
"Remember when we were kids, Char?" Roxanne asked, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "We used to build forts out of blankets and pretend we were fearless adventurers, ready to conquer the world."
"Of course," Charlotte replied, a bittersweet nostalgia settling over her. "But that bravery doesn't feel real anymore."
"Maybe not," Roxanne acknowledged, her eyes sparkling with determination. "But that's the thing about bravery – it's not something you're born with. It's something you choose every single day. You can recapture that. Daniel might have made the most loser decision of his life, but he hasn’t taken away your ability to get through the fallout. I say, if he wants you to be miserable, you do the opposite—go out and live it up. Be as happy as you can be. Show him that your life can be better without him, just like he’s insisting."
Charlotte looked deep into her sister's eyes, feeling a flicker of hope ignite within her chest. She knew Roxanne was right; she had the power to reshape her own story and redefine herself.
“What about painting full-time?" Roxanne ventured, her voice laced with genuine curiosity.
The question made Charlotte pause, her heart skipping a beat at the prospect. Could she really do that? Was it possible to build a life around what truly brought her joy? Her thoughts raced, fueled by the potency of the wine and the encouragement from her sister.
"Maybe," Charlotte whispered, the word tasting like possibility on her lips. She almost told Roxanne about the rejection from Ashwood. But then, louder, instead, she said, “You know—yes!”
"Darn right, it's time!" Roxanne cheered, raising her glass in a toast.
The night wore on, and as the wine continued to flow, so did their conversation. And maybe it was her sister’s encouragement, and maybe it was the wine, but Charlotte felt a shift within herself. She was no longer just a bystander in her own story. She was the protagonist, ready to take control of the narrative and paint a new future.
She would start tomorrow. Tonight was for letting loose with Roxanne.
CHAPTER FIVE
Later that evening, the front door clicked shut behind Charlotte as she leaned against it. Her breathing was labored, and her head was spinning from the wine. The house was silent, and now that Roxanne had left, Daniel's absence was palpable. The emptiness weighed on Charlotte like a thick fog.
"Darn it," she muttered under her breath, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. Her swollen eyes searched for a distraction, anything to keep her mind off the sudden upheaval that had shattered her life like fragile porcelain. It was hard to ignore without the vibrant presence of her sister to distract her.
Charlotte’s gaze fell upon a dusty box in the corner of the living room, something Daniel must have unearthed while he’d packed. Curious, Charlotte approached the box, noting the letters "A" and "R" written on the side – her maiden initials. She knelt, her fingers trembling as they traced the familiar, faded ink. She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest, before tugging at the tape sealing the box shut.
As she lifted the cardboard flaps, a musty smell wafted up, tinged with memories of a time long gone. She rummaged through the contents: a collection of sketchbooks, a few old paintbrushes, and other dried-out art supplies. Beneath them lay a small stack of photographs, each one a frozen moment from her past. She picked one up cautiously, and a wave of nostalgia washed over her.
"Wow," she breathed, staring at the image. It was a photograph of her, Roxanne, and their dad, Henry, all smiling brightly. They appeared younger, carefree, and blissfully unaware of the challenges that lay ahead. Charlotte could almost hear her sister's sassy laughter echoing through the years, a sound that always managed to bring a smile to her face.
"Rox, Dad," she murmured, the memories seeping into her thoughts like ink on paper. The photo had captured a moment in time that felt both distant and achingly close – a reminder of what once was, and what could have been. Charlotte's fingers lingered on the photograph, her eyes drawn to their surroundings in the image. They had been standing on a rocky beach, windblown hair framing their smiling faces, while waves crashed behind them. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, as if she could still smell the salty air. The memory of that summer vacation to Chesham Cove, England, came flooding back to her.
"Come on, girls!"their dad had called out, waving them toward the shore."The water's perfect!"
Charlotte shook herself from the remembrance, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. That summer had been magical – a time when laughter came easily, and happiness felt like an endless horizon stretched out before them.
Things were so simple back then,Charlotte thought, her heart aching with longing for the past.Everything was so different.She thought of her life now – the empty house, Daniel's absence, and her faltering career as an artist. It seemed like a cruel contrast to the joy she had once known. As Charlotte continued to gaze at the photo, she felt a growing doggedness within her. She couldn't change the past, but as Roxanne had said, she could take control of her future. The carefree girl on that rocky beach, with her entire life ahead of her, was still there – buried beneath years of heartache and disappointment.
"Maybe Chesham Cove holds the key to finding myself again," Charlotte murmured, tracing the edges of the photograph. Her mother had been the one to snap the photo, and now Charlotte recalled the weeks following their mother's funeral, so many years later, the house heavy with grief and emptiness. Her art school acceptance letter had arrived just days before, but she couldn't bring herself to feel excitement amidst the sorrow.
And then, Henry Anderson had just disappeared. Poof. Packed some things, much like Daniel, and gone from her life and Rox’s. The memory of her father's absence stirred a deep ache within her, one that had never fully faded. They had been left to pick up the pieces, Roxanne inheriting the responsibility of their family home while Charlotte pursued her dreams of becoming an artist—and molded herself into the box that Daniel built for them.
The memories of the bliss she’d felt at Chesham Cove came flooding back as Charlotte stared once more at the worn photograph. She could almost feel the cool breeze that had danced along the coast, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed. The sun had been warm on her skin that day as she’d stood between her sister and their father, all three of them grinning with pure joy. It was there, in that quaint little village nestled along the cliffs, that she had last felt truly happy. A time before loss and heartache had become constant companions.
Her head swam with all the wine she’d had. She hiccupped softly as she stared at the photo.
"Maybe I'll find a little cottage near the shore," she mused, picking up her glass and sipping her wine again. "I could paint in the mornings, listening to the seagulls and the waves crashing against the rocks."
She envisioned herself walking through the cobbled streets of the quaint town, exchanging pleasantries with friendly locals and discovering hidden gems to paint, tucked away in the vibrant landscape.
“I could even teach art classes,” she continued, "Or hold exhibitions at a local gallery. Openmy own gallery. To heck with you,Ashwood Fine Arts!I’ll even have a fling with a sexy British guy. A duke. A baron."
"Roxanne will be so surprised when I tell her," she whispered, hiccupping again, her eyes sparkling with excitement at the thought of her sister's reaction. Charlotte stood and wobbled to the side table where she’d left her phone, setting down her wine glass and swiping to wake her screen.
She began texting furiously, her confidence in her plans for the future growing with every word that appeared on the phone screen. Yes, this was all just perfect. The perfect plan. Nothing could go wrong.
