Sera’s pov:
I tried to paint away the ache.
My father’s words were still stuck in my head… broken, heavy things he couldn't bring himself to finish. I kept seeing the way he looked away when I asked about my mother, or the debt, or how our lives had fallen apart.
So I picked up a brush.
Paint was kinder than memory. Colors didn't lie to me, and they didn't stop halfway through the truth.
I sat by the window, my knees tucked under me as the afternoon sun spilled across the floor. My canvas was a blur of soft blues and pale golds. I didn’t really know what I was creating; I just knew my chest felt too tight to breathe, and this was the only way to find some air.
I was so lost in the movement of my hand that I didn't hear the door.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Damien’s voice was low
