MORE THAN A PARTNER
TIARA
I could scream with hurt at what she said. In a way, she was right.
My eyes swelled up with tears.
“What is important to me continues to be here,” I said and wasn’t lying. My artwork. All my colors and brushes. Everything. How come I left all this here? Why hadn’t I returned? Had I really been so preoccupied with Vincent and the ridiculous wedding I was planning, trying to please my mother and my husband, that I had suddenly ceased being an artist?
Ceased to be me?
Okay, sure. I must have had that small enlightenment five times by that point. But I realized like a flash of lightning when I realized I hadn’t used my brushes or canvas in more than a month. To paint was necessary. I supposed doing that might enable me to manage my issues. Furthermore, I would
