“Love you, little guy.”
“Love you too.”
Roman leans in and kisses me gently on the lips. “You did this,” he says. “You earned it.”
“Wedid this,” I reply.
Together, we watch the crowd mingle, the kids play. Sasha joins them without hesitation.
There’s much more work to be done.
I can’t wait to get started.
EPILOGUE II
AMALIE
Two years later…
The smell of the studio is one of my favorite things. It smells like paint, clean wood, and something vaguely sugary. I like to think of it as the magic in the air.
Or maybe just the lingering scent of snacks.
There’s one thing for sure—the studio is alive in a way that places rarely are. Voices echo softly down the hall. There’s laughter at times, the silence of intense concentration at others.
I love that hush, the really specific type of silence that settles when the little artists are deeply absorbed in their projects. When I hear it—or rather, don’t hear—that’s my cue to leave my office and make the rounds.
I pause outside one of the classrooms and lean against the door frame, watching. Sasha’s seated at a long table with a group of kids his own age. I can’t believe he’s almost eight now, working on a mixed-media piece. He’s hunched over his paper, browfurrowed in fierce focus, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as it has since he was five.
The piece is bold with strong lines, confident color choices. I can’t quite make out what it is from where I stand, but it looks to be the Chicago skyline—one of his favorite subjects. And it’s good. Like, really good. The kid is developing as an artist quickly, and it’s practically war to get him to leave this place. He’s talented, confident, and wonderful in every way. The future’s so bright for him and I can’t wait to see what it holds.
I need to remind myself to chill. He’ll be a teenager before I know it.
Normally, he’s too focused to notice me watching, but he looks up, grins, and waves. I wave back and mouthI love you. He does the same, then goes right back to work. My chest tightens with emotion.
I wave to Miss Rochelle, the teacher, before walking away.
Down the hall, Theo’s classroom is chaos, glorious, wonderful chaos, the kind only toddlers can create. Noise, laughter, and finger paint is everywhere. Theo’s seated on the floor with his hands covered in paint, happily making blue handprints on a big piece of construction paper. He looks up, sees me, and lets out a happy, “Mama!”
With a kiss to Theo’s head and a brief chat with the teacher, I’m off. I make the rest of my rounds—checking in with instructors, answering questions, signing off on schedules. The place is humming.
By the time I slip back into my office, my feet ache and my heart is so full I feel like it might burst. I grin when I see the surprisewaiting for me—Roman, standing by the window looking out over the grounds.
He turns when I close the door, a bouquet of tulips in his hands. My favorite. He smiles that small, private smile only I get to see.
I hurry across the room in three steps and practically leap into his arms.
“How’s your day?” he asks, kissing me, then brushing a thumb along my jaw.
“Perfect. Exhausting, but perfect.”
He nods toward my desk, where a white bag sits. “Lunch from Emma,” he says. “Grilled chicken Mediterranean salad, hummus and pita bread, and a halvah brownie.”
My stomach grumbles happily.
“Nice and light. Because tonight, I am cooking bolognese.”
I laugh, kissing him again. “Office drop-ins, home-cooked meals… I gotta say, this quasi-retired life suits you.”
