Shadows in colors

CHAPTER FIVE

Seraphine

The afternoon light leaned low against the world, slanting through branches and metal fences in long amber lines. The end of the school day always brought a kind of beautiful chaos—children pouring out through the gates, laughter tumbling over itself, the air full of shouts and half-finished sentences.

Parents stood clustered in small groups, some chatting, others checking watches or scrolling through their phones. The scent of chalk and sun-warmed asphalt drifted faintly from the building.

Seraphine stood a little apart from the crowd, one hand tightening around the strap of her leather bag. She’d parked a bit down the road, close enough to see the gates, far enough to leave quickly if she needed to.

Every day she told herself it was fine.

Every day it wasn’t.

She tried to look ordinary—just another parent waiting for her child—but the truth pulsed beneath her calm exterior: dread, quiet and familiar. Her heart drummed unevenly, like it remembered something her body wished it didn’t.

She knew Camilla worked here now. She had known since the morning she’d seen her standing by the staff entrance, sunlight glancing off her hair, that same tilt of her head that had once undone her. And though Seraphine had promised herself she wouldn’t look again, she still did—every afternoon, despite herself. Her eyes searched the courtyard automatically, always finding the art room window, always waiting for the flicker of a shadow that might be hers.

She hated how easily it all returned.

“Mom!”

Aria’s voice broke through, sharp and bright as a bell.

Seraphine’s chest loosened a little. She crouched down as her daughter ran toward her, hair bouncing, a streak of blue paint dried across her sleeve. Her grin was pure sunshine—too wide, too sweet to belong in any of Seraphine’s darker thoughts.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Seraphine said softly, brushing stray curls from Aria’s face. “How was your day?”

“Good!” Aria beamed. “We painted today . Miss Hart said mine looked like it was alive .”

Seraphine’s smile faltered.

Miss Hart.

For a second, the noise of the world dulled around her.

“Did she?” she managed to say.

“Mhm!” Aria nodded enthusiastically, pulling open her backpack. “Look! I even got a sticker.”

Seraphine’s hands trembled slightly as she reached for the paper, admiring the rough, colorful strokes. It was all there—the wildness of a child’s joy, the freedom she wanted Aria to have, untouched by the shadows of her own past.

Then, behind her, she heard her name.

“Seraphine.”

Soft. Cautious. Like a whisper not meant for public air.

She turned.

Camilla stood a few steps away, the art room door closing behind her. The sunlight framed her in a way that felt cruelly familiar—her hair pulled into a loose bun, smudges of paint across her fingers, a faint tiredness under her eyes that hadn’t been there years ago.

She was still beautiful. Not in the way that invited attention, but in the quiet, worn way of someone who had built a life out of ache and apology.

Seraphine’s breath caught before she could hide it.

Camilla held out a small sketchbook. “Aria left this behind,” she said gently. “I thought she might want it for the weekend.”

Seraphine reached out, careful, almost mechanical. “Thank you.”

Their fingers nearly touched—nearly—and she felt the distance between them sharpen, alive with memory.

“You’re welcome.” Camilla hesitated, eyes searching hers. “She’s a bright girl. Curious. She’s got… your hands, I think.”

Seraphine’s jaw tightened. “She has her own,” she said, her voice cool, steady.

Camilla nodded faintly, a flicker of pain passing through her eyes. She shifted her weight, gripping the strap of her satchel. “It’s… good to see you again.”

“Is it?”

The words came out before Seraphine could stop them—low, clipped, not angry but edged. The kind of tone that made things close up instead of open.

Camilla’s mouth parted. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant,” Seraphine interrupted quietly. She didn’t look away, but something in her expression froze the air between them. “You don’t have to pretend.”

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The sounds of laughter and car doors filled the background, as if the world refused to care about their silence.

Camilla’s lips parted again, as if to apologize. But Seraphine turned, already reaching for Aria’s hand.

“Come on, love,” she said softly. “Let’s go.”

Aria looked between them, confused but quick to obey. She smiled brightly at Camilla as they passed. “Bye, Miss Hart!”

Camilla forced a small smile. “Bye, Aria.”

Her voice cracked slightly at the end, so quiet Seraphine almost didn’t hear it. Almost.

The air felt too thick, too close. Seraphine didn’t look back. She could feel Camilla’s gaze following them—heavy, pleading, full of things she didn’t want to hear.

At the car, Seraphine opened the door for Aria, waiting as her daughter buckled herself in. Her fingers were cold despite the warmth of the afternoon.

She stood for a moment before getting in, staring at her reflection in the glass. The faint outline of her face, the exhaustion around her eyes, the ghost of the girl she used to be staring back at her.

She climbed in, started the engine, and drove.

Aria hummed softly in the backseat, flipping through the sketchbook, lost in her own little world. Seraphine kept her eyes on the road, though the world blurred slightly at the edges.

The sun dipped lower, the city bleeding into soft orange light. The trees lining the street swayed gently in the wind, and Seraphine felt that old ache stirring again—the one that started in her ribs and spread like a bruise.

How dare Camilla look at her like that?

How dare she sound so kind, so careful, after everything she’d done?

Seraphine’s grip on the wheel tightened. Her throat felt dry.

But under the anger, under the exhaustion, something else pulsed—a quiet sadness she didn’t want to name. A reminder that love, even when it broke you, didn’t always leave when you asked it to.

She glanced at Aria in the mirror, her daughter’s face half-lit by sunlight. That was her anchor. Her reason. The only thing that had stayed when everything else had fallen apart.

Seraphine drew in a steady breath and focused on the road ahead, letting the silence fill the car again. She didn’t look back—not at the school, not at Camilla, not at what still lingered like a wound that refused to close.

The city rolled by in waves of gold and shadow, and Seraphine drove straight through it—quiet, composed, pretending she didn’t feel the ache of every mile.