Chapter 12 - THE ASH AND THE DAWN
I struck a match, touched it to the corner of the photograph, and dropped it into the kitchen sink.
The old, glossy paper caught quickly. The flame danced blue and orange, curling the edges of my twenty-four-year-old face, turning the fire escape to black ash.
I watched it burn until it was nothing but soot against the stainless steel drain.
Then, I reached into the box and took out the rest.
There were about forty photos in total. Vacations to Miami. Anniversaries in New York. Candids from our kitchen before the money and the blood stained everything we touched.
One by one, I lit them.
It wasn't an act of hatred. It was an act of burial.
I was laying the ghost of my marriage to rest.
When the last photograph—a picture of Daniel and me standing proudly in front of our first bought home—crumbled into ash, I turned on the faucet. The water washed the remnants down the drain, leaving the sink perfectly, spotlessly clean.
The front door opened.
“Mom! We’re here!” Emily’s voice echoed down the hall.
“Grandma Susan! I brought my dinosaur!” Leo yelled, his little footsteps pounding against the hardwood.
I dried my hands on a towel and walked out to the hallway.
The house smelled of garlic and roasting chicken. The fire was roaring in the living room.
Mark was hanging up his coat, smiling at me. Emily was chasing Leo, tickling his ribs until he collapsed into giggles on the couch.
They were my family. Broken, rearranged, scarred, but entirely mine.
I walked into the living room and stood before the fireplace.
I looked at the empty space above the mantle where the wedding portrait used to hang.
“Mom,” Emily said softly, coming up beside me. “Are you ever going to put anything up there?”
I looked at the blank wall. It was perfectly smooth. Unmarked.
“Yes,” I said.
I walked over to the kitchen island and picked up the drawing Leo had made for me months ago. The stick figures holding hands in front of the house.
I brought it back to the mantle and secured it to the stone with a small piece of tape.
It wasn't a grand, oil-painted portrait. It wasn't framed in heavy mahogany.
It was simple, and honest, and real.
Leo stopped running and looked at his drawing on the wall. He beamed with pride.
“I’m hungry, Grandma,” he declared.
I laughed. A real, deep laugh that echoed off the high ceilings of the house that I owned.
“Then let’s eat,” I said.
We gathered around the dining table. The noise of clinking silverware and happy chatter filled the room.
Outside, the Chicago winter raged, cold and unforgiving.
May you like
But inside, the lights were on, the doors were locked, and I was exactly where I belonged.
Safe. Powerful. And free.
