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I stick to the shadows and watch people as they walk through the gallery and never speak to anyone. I don’t need to go at all, but I am curious to see who buys my art. Sometimes, people will buy through an online agent and then I’m forced to wonder who’s wall my painting will hang on.

I’ve sold enough art to be able to afford my lifestyle, pay for the fake mortgage payment I send every month to Emil, and have a decent sized savings account. I count myself very lucky to be able to be completely present in my son’s life. I paint while he’s at school.

“I don’t like it,” he mumbles, walking in front of me as we go down the stairs. He knows I walk slower than him and I prefer to watch him go ahead of me.

“I know. Sorry, sweetheart.”

“Do you want to make cookies with me and then watch a horror movie?” Liliana asks, waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

My kid has a horror movie addiction. He enjoys being jumped scared, and I have no idea why. I end up having to watch the movies before him to manage the risk to his mental health before I’ll agree to allow him to watch it.

It’s one of the many things on my list of duties as my kid’s mom.

“Which one?” Zayn asks about both the cookies and the movie. My lips twitch as I press a kiss to his cheek as I say goodbye. He freezes before racing to the mirror to see if I left any lipstick there.

“Is it kiss proof?” I ask, chuckling because I know it is.

“Yes. No kissing anyone else,” he grumbles.

“Don’t tell your mother what to do,” Liliana says lightly, moving him toward the kitchen. “Theo already ran a background check on Arran. He’s a good guy.”

“Can we call him? I need to know the tea.”

“Oh my god. You don’t need the tea on my date, kiddo,” I groan, putting my taser in my purse. I doubt I’ll need it, but it’s second nature. “What movie are you watching?”

“The first Final Destination movie,” Liliana says. “We’re going to make whatever cookie Zayn decides. I have lots of ingredients in the kitchen.”

My son’s eyes widen with excitement because he loves a good experiment. He’s going to be just fine.

Liliana winks at me as I pick up my keys and begin to slip out the solid front door.

“Love you!” I call out before locking up. It’s only five in the afternoon and the weather is cool. There’s no reason to pull the car out of the garage. I smile as I walk, taking it nice and slow. I’m not a hero and packed my little stool in my bag. It looks like a wallet until you open it up.

Assistive devices get better with each year, and I’m so damn grateful for it. I don’t need to take a huge backpack everywhere with me anymore.

If I need it, I’ll open up the discussion of how I’m a chronic illness baddie. He can decide if he wants to stick around after that.

Since it’s a Friday afternoon, there’s a lot of people out, and I say hello as people greet me as I walk.

“Are you headed to the festival?” Bethany asks as she begins to walk past me with some groceries. “You look amazing, Isla.”

She and I have had play dates over the years, and we both cried when our kids had their first day of kindergarten. She says that no matter how many kids you have, the first day is still brutal.

I have to take her word for it, because I was a damn mess. I wouldn’t say we’re besties or anything, but I would count her as a friend.

It’s difficult to have close relationships when you have as many secrets as I do.

“Thanks! I am headed that way now,” I say. “It sounds like it’ll be fun.”

“It will be,” she grins. She is always so positive. I enjoy hanging out with her. “You deserve a night out, girl.”

I dip my head in agreement as I continue on, wondering what it would be like to have a normal life. This is about as close as I’ve been able to get, and everyone calls me by a name that isn’t mine.

Arran is meeting me at his tattoo parlor. He had a last minute appointment, and I said I didn’t mind walking on my own. It didn’t make any sense for me to reschedule when I wouldn’t let him pick me up at my home. It’ll be a while before I’m alright with that.

I poke my head in the door, watching as he wipes down the tattoo.

“He’s almost done. Come on in,” Jenna says, seeing me. “He feels really bad.”