Getting changed into fresh clothes felt like a complete reset—like I had been revived. The fabric against my skin, the fresh scent of my own belongings—it was exactly what I needed to stop feeling like a prison inmate.
As I stepped out of the bathroom, I was met with an unexpected sight.
Lidia stood frozen, holding all of her coloring pages in her hands, her expression one of pure shock.
When she finally found her voice, her words came out soft, almost hesitant.
“You gave me back all of my coloring pages instead of painting them?”
I blinked. What was I missing?
Did Lidia really think I would color on her original pages instead of respecting that they belonged to her?
I nodded and answered carefully, “Of course I wouldn’t color on the originals—they’re yours. You shared them with me,
