The piercing sound of her alarm shocked Veronica out of her sleep. She blinked into the dim room, allowing the truth to sink in. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed a crumpled comic strip laying on the ground, with Damien's face etched into a cartoonish grin. With a breath, she scooped it up, torn between tearing it apart and smoothing out its wrinkles.
An unexpected snort from the twins' room shattered her meditation. She tossed the comic into her drawer, clearing her mind. This was not the day for what-ifs.
Tracy and Tiffany were already bouncing on their beds, giggling with their usual morning energy. Veronica snatched them up in hugs, herding them through the same old pandemonium of tooth brushing and mismatched socks.
"Mama, are we able to have pancakes?" Tiffany inquired, looking up with expectant eyes.
Veronica looked at the clock and grinned apologically. "Not today, but maybe this weekend, love. "We'll make them more special."
Tiffany pouted, but the promise made her feel better, and Veronica's thoughts returned to her cutting-edge possibilities. The previous day, the proprietor of a neighborhood café had asked her to create a mural for their newly remodeled partitions. It wasn't a large sum, but it was enough to cover a month's rent. As she went about her daily routine of dropoffs, errands, and lunch breaks, Veronica's mind raced with ideas for the mural, each caricature more colorful and vivid than the last.
By the time she arrived home, the excitement had sent her nerves twitching. Her daughter's eyelids were tired when she tucked Tracy and Tiffany into bed that night. "Mama, why are you so happy?"
Veronica halted, a gentle smile on her lips. "due to the fact, baby, I think things are ultimately beginning to get higher."
Tracy yawned and said, "You need to be satisfied, Mama." With that, she slipped away, leaving Veronica status behind, her heart a strange mix of yearning and tenderness.
After putting the girls to bed, Veronica's mind raced with the possibilities that the mural job brought. As she scrolled over her pricing range for the tenth time, she came across a website list. "Former storage space, perfect for small workplace or studio," its description states. She hesitated, calculating how much she'd need to trim to make it a picture. The price was steep, but something inside her whispered that it might be well worth it.
Her finger paused above the "contact" button before she clicked, confirming her decision.
Three weeks later, Veronica stood outside a slender, unremarkable building, holding a rusted key. She drove open the door and entered the little, dusty chamber, which smelled strongly of paint and aged wood. The daylight poured through a cracked window, spreading a pleasant warmth over the vacant interior.
This was hers. After years of conflict, her artwork may finally be able to breathe. She began working immediately, scrubbing, painting, and arranging the few things she could afford. Tracy and Tiffany joined her, enthralled by the art of scenery, fingerpainting on vintage newspapers while she worked.
In the coming weeks, the small studio came to life. The walls were incorporated into her artwork, and each brushstroke seemed like a reclamation of herself. She became more than just a mother; she became an artist, finally giving voice to the dreams she had kept hidden.
One rainy afternoon, as Veronica was finishing up a fee for a nearby restaurant, the studio door cracked open. She expected to see the twins return early from playtime, but instead, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair stood inside the doorway, shaking the rain from his umbrella.
"Excuse me," he began, his voice low and apology-filled. "I used to go to the bookstore around the corner. I did not intend to intervene."
Veronica attempted a polite smile, ready to beg him to leave, but he halted, his eyes drawn to her artwork. His eyes expanded, and his expression turned to one of astonishment.
"Those are magnificent," he muttered as he stepped closer. "The color, the emotion... Who represents you?"
Veronica's brow wrinkled. "Represents me?"
The man extended a hand, his expression warm and sincere. "I'm Harrison Blackwell. "I write for the Metropolitan Overview."
Veronica's coronary heart skipped. She was aware that the name Harrison Blackwell was known for discovering new performers. She'd look at his columns, subconsciously picturing her work in the places he defined.
She shook his hand, feeling little breathless. "I'm Veronica Williams."
"Properly, Ms. Williams, your art has something unique. I'd want to include you in my next column and introduce you to certain others. You must be on gallery dividers, not in a lower back alley."
Veronica struggled to nod as he offered her his card. "Wait for my call." "Big things are ahead, Veronica," he remarked with a wink.
After he departed, she stood alone in her studio, clutching his card with quivering fingers. The truth of what had just happened hit her in waves, and she laughed, delight bursting over. This changed into her spoil.
However, as she approached the corner outside, her laughter stopped. A familiar sight across the street caught her attention.
Damian Castlerock.
She ducked lower back instinctively, her heart racing. He stood conversing to a woman in a tailored suit, his face serene yet concentrated, as she recalled him. He had not noticed her, but seeing him brought back bittersweet and uncomfortable memories.
That night, after putting the kids to bed, Veronica sat alone, her arms tracing Harrison's card, her mind racing at the sight of Damien. She believed she had left that life behind. However, seeing him added sparked a surge of doubts and the possibility that he hadn't forgotten as much as she had thought.
Damien sat in his penthouse office across the city, a fuzzy photograph on his table. It depicted a lady with tiny children; her face went distant, but the tilt of her head and the manner she held them became distinct.
He stroked his finger across the photograph, his jaw set in a stern expression. "I've found her," he said quietly. He hadn't felt so determined in years. Despite everything, Veronica had not vanished completely. She had merely locked herself away, hoping he would never notice.
and he or she proved to be inaccurate.
The week passed without incident, and Veronica's life resumed its usual rhythm, but her thoughts constantly went back to that moment on the street. However, with Harrison's approaching film and a steady stream of commissions, she was obliged to live deliberately.
Until one afternoon, when a dark SUV arrived outside her studio.
Veronica froze, watching as a parent in a suit emerged. Damien. Her stomach knotted with dread and bewilderment as he moved slowly toward the door. The steely glare in his eyes was unmistakable; he had transformed into the perfect man for her.
He opened the door, the bell ringing amid the unexpected, suffocating silence.
"Veronica," he said quietly, his stare piercing. "It's been a long term."
She swallowed, feeling a mix of fear and rage surge within her. "What are you doing here, Damien?"
He took a hesitant step nearer, his gaze never leaving her face. "I should ask you the same thing. Disappearing without utterance. And those kids...are they mine?"
The question hovered between them, and she felt her willpower slipping. "I did what I thought changed into proper," she murmured quietly, fists clenched. "This is for them." "And for me."
"That wasn't your choice to make by myself." His voice had an undercooked quality to it, reminding her of the man she had once loved. But the years had hardened him; she might want to see it in the creases on his face.
"I left because I did not need this for them or us. Damien, you live in a unique global. One that I do not want them to get involved in."
Damien's jaw stiffened. "You didn't even supply me the risk to be a father."
A frantic stillness settled in, the weight of their decisions pressing down on them. She should have seen the hurt buried behind his rage, and for a brief moment, she felt a stab of sorrow.
"Damien, it has been years. I've built a life right here, one without you." She braced herself, her voice wavering. "Don't come again into it now, asking for belongings you gave up whilst you allow me leave."
He held her look, something mysterious flickering in his eyes. Then he nodded almost subtly. "I want to peer them," he stated, leaving no space for debate. "They should recognise who i am."
Veronica felt her heart sinking. She realized this was merely the beginning of something that might pull her international apart. However, Damien's drive was clear, and she couldn't ignore it.
As he was about to depart, he halted in the doorway. "I am not going to disappear this time, Veronica. I'll be lower back, and this time, I won't let you walk away."
The door slid shut behind him, and she or he remained there, staring at the empty space he left behind, fear gnawing at her insides. For months, she'd struggled to protect the life she'd constructed, to protect her girls from the shadows of her past.
However, she could already see the walls she had built collapsing.