Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Amelia and Jason are lying on the rug, curled together, asleep, surrounded by a chaos of pencils, paint tubes, crayons, and the leftovers of their lunch. Paint smudges Amelia’s cheek, a streak of emerald green, and Jason’s small hand clutches a crayon, his dark curls fanned out on her arm.
On the easel, Amelia’s dragon glows—emerald scales shimmering, wings spread wide, eyes fierce with life. It’s breathtaking, a masterpiece that pulses with her soul, her fire. Beside it, on the floor, Jason’s crayon drawings mimic her work—childish but bold, dragons in red and blue, their lines wobbly but proud.
Pride and awe mix with a desperate ache. How the fuck can she be my half-sister? The thought hits hard, a question I’ve wrestled with for years, because this love, this need, feels too raw, too real for blood to define. At this point, do I even care? I don’t know anymore.
I set the takeout bag on the table and kneel beside them, my hand hovering over Amelia’s hair, blonde strands tangled with Jason’s curls. My chest tightens, love and guilt colliding. In all my years with Sara, I’ve never rushed to come home, never felt this pull to be here. Every moment away from Amelia feels like torture, a theft of time I can’t get back.
I find it impossible to wake them up. I just watch them, my heart swelling, the quiet rhythm of their breaths grounding me, until my presence is sensed. Amelia stirs, her eyes fluttering open, green and hazy. She sees me, and a slow smile spreads over her lips. It is warm and radiant. She is my whole world, and I’m her whole world. Love floods me, and I lean in, and kiss her softly, my lips brushing hers, tasting her sweetness.
“You’re home,” she murmurs, voice husky with sleep, her warm hand reaching for mine.
The touch sparks through me, and just like that, I want to take her and carry her away and make love to her until she screams, but my eyes flick to Jason, still asleep, a green crayon loosely held in his grip.
“I brought dinner,” I say, voice rough, nodding at the bag. “Chinese. I thought we could eat together.”
“Here?” she asks, voice teasing, sitting up, careful not to wake Jason. “Not downstairs?”
“Here feels right,” I say, grinning, my hand still in hers, thumb brushing her knuckles. “This place—it’s yours, it’s ours.” Her eyes soften, and she nods, rising to unpack the food. The scent of fried rice and sesame chicken soon fills the room, mingling with the turpentine, and we set out plates, the clink of ceramic soft in the quiet. Jason stirs eventually, then comes awake, his gray eyes—my eyes—bright with surprise.
“Daddy!” he says, scrambling up. “You’re home early!” His excitement hits me, a warmth I haven’t felt from him in years. Unable to help myself, I pull him into a big bear hug. I suddenly realize as I hold his small, warm body that we haven’t hugged in ages. Why? Because I’ve been too busy? Only seeing him over the dining table? With great regret and sadness, I grasp that unconsciously, over time, I have slowly left almost all the parenting to Sara.
“I couldn’t stay away,” I say, voice low, meeting Amelia’s eyes over his head.
She smiles. “Let me go get some plates, chopsticks, and forks from the kitchen.”
“I’ll help,” Jason offers eagerly.
I watch the two of them leave the room. How close they have become in such a short time. When they come back, Amelia hands out the plates, and we sit on the rug, cross-legged, the takeout spread out like a picnic. Jason digs into the rice. His awkward handling of his chopsticks makes Amelia laugh. She reaches out to help him. Her fingers are deft and gentle, but skilled. She seems so natural with him, so loving.
We talk, easy, natural—Jason about his dragon drawing, Amelia about the painting, me about my meeting that went better than I expected. I recount the funny Japanese joke about the cat and the cow that my business associate told me. They both laugh, and their laughter is bright and unguarded, and it fills the studio. Once again, I take it all in and I’m struck by how right this feels, how alive I am with them. Amelia draws my attention to Jason’s drawings.
“These dragons are amazing, buddy,” I say, nodding at Jason’s drawings, my voice warm with pride. “You’re really good.”
“Aunt Amelia taught me,” he says, beaming, rice sticking to his cheek. I reach out and do what I never do. I wipe away the grain of rice.
He grins at me.
“Well, she did great because you’re showing so much promise," I say.
"Thank you, Daddy," He beams with pleasure.
“You’re a great teacher,” I murmur, turning my gaze to Amelia, and she blushes, her smile shy but radiant. When we finish eating, the plates are pushed aside, and Jason turns to me. “What shall we do now, Daddy?”