Chapter 6 - The Unbroken Horizon
Six months later.
Spring in Santa Fe was a breathtaking explosion of color: pale pink peach blossoms blooming against adobe walls, vibrant turquoise skies, and the golden desert sun warming the earth.
My professional career had reached heights I never could have imagined. Following the viral circulation of photos from the anniversary gala—which had been quietly captured and posted online by a sympathetic guest—the art world had rallied around The Millers at Home. A prominent contemporary gallery in New York City purchased the original painting for six figures, and art critics hailed it as a masterclass in emotional vulnerability and familial estrangement.
More importantly, children’s book publishers were beating down my studio door, and my schedule was booked out for two solid years.
I had changed my phone number, established firm legal boundaries, and completely closed the door on my parents and siblings. They had attempted to send intermediaries and guilt-tripping emails through mutual acquaintances, but those messages were intercepted by my attorney and swiftly filed away into digital oblivion.
They had spent twenty-one years telling everyone that I didn't belong to them.
They were finally right. I didn't. And I never had.
On a bright, crystal-clear Saturday afternoon, I stood on the wide wooden balcony of my newly expanded Santa Fe studio and home, wearing a paint-splattered linen apron over a bright yellow sundress.
Ethan stood beside me, grilling fresh vegetables on the deck, while Aunt Ruth—who had permanently packed up her farmhouse and moved out west to live near us—sat comfortably in a wicker rocking chair, sketching a landscape of the desert cacti in her sketchbook.
The afternoon breeze carried the rich, earthy scent of sage and piñon pine.
May you like
I set my sketchbook down on the patio table, walked to the edge of the balcony, and looked out across the magnificent, endless expanse of the New Mexico landscape.
There were no walls blocking my view. There were no frosted windows shutting me out in the cold. There was only the open, brilliant horizon, stretching out as far as the eye could see—entirely illuminated by the morning sun, and completely framed by my own hands.
