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)
“Oh my God,” she whispers, her voice horrified, her eyes darting from the painting to me. “This is… awful. Amelia, I’m so sorry.” Her fingers hover over the ink, not touching. She can see that my own fingers are stained with it. “I'm so sorry. Was it a mistake, or-"
I stare at her in shock and astonishment. "What? Mistake? I didn’t do this. Someone ruined my painting intentionally.”
"Oh my God, I’m really sorry," she says. And then she adds, "I hate to say this, but there’s only one person who could’ve done this. Jason. He was upset that you didn’t want to join us for lunch."
I shake my head, tears streaming faster, my voice a ragged whisper. “No, Sara, it can’t be. Not Jason. He’s too sweet—he wouldn’t. He knows how important this painting is to me. He loves this dragon.” My words are desperate, a plea to shield the boy who’s become a part of my heart. His crayon dragons are a mirror of my own work. I can’t believe he’d destroy something we shared, something I poured my soul into.
"Maybe," she replies. "But he’s still a child, and he loves you a lot. It hurt him when you said no. Sometimes it’s hard for children to control their emotions. I’ll get him and ask."
Sara’s lips are pressed tight, her eyes narrowed, and her entire body is stiff with fury. She whirls towards the door and shouts, her voice loud and stern.
“Jason! Jason! Come here, right now!”
My stomach twists. Suddenly, the painting becomes unimportant, and the most vital thing becomes protecting Jason from Sara’s rage. Dread is like ice in my veins as I stand frozen, my eyes locked on the doorway.
Jason shuffles in, his dark curls flopping on his forehead, his gray eyes wide and wary with fear. He is clutching his stuffed bear like it is a lifeline. His small frame literally shrinks under Sara’s furious gaze.
“Jason,” she says, her voice harsh, “I know it was an accident. Of course, it was. You wouldn’t do something that despicable on purpose, so I’m not angry with you, but you need to tell the truth. There's an ink stain on Aunt Amelia’s painting, and it's pretty bad. Did you do this to Aunt Amelia’s painting? Did you?”
His eyes flick to the canvas, then to me, and they fill with tears. His lip trembles, and he nods. When he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Amelia,” he says, his words cracking like thin ice. “I… I did it. I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.” Then his tears spill over, rolling uncontrollably down his pale cheeks. He opens his mouth and begins to bawl inconsolably. My heart feels like it is a piece of glass splintering, love and sorrow flooding through the fractures. I can’t bear to see him this way. I rush to him, drop to my knees, and pull his small trembling body into my arms.
I kiss his cheeks, tasting the salt of his tears, and hold his body tight. When I speak, my voice is soft and soothing despite the raw wound of the ruined painting.
“It’s okay, little angel,” I murmur, my lips brushing his forehead, his curls tickling my face.
“It’s really okay. I wasn’t even that happy with it, you know? It needed something new. Besides, I spill ink on my work all the time. We’ll make another one, you and me, okay?” I force a smile, my voice steady, though my eyes burn, the loss of the dragon, a jagged scar I’m hiding for his sake.
Jason’s sobs grow louder, his small hands clutch my sweater, and the sound is beyond hurt.
Sara steps forward, her face tight, and pulls him from my arms, her grip firm, unyielding. “This is unacceptable. Come on, Jason.” Her voice is sharp, and edged with anger. “Let’s go.”
She leads him out, his footsteps dragging, and I hear her voice in the hallway, cruel and cutting. “Stop crying like a little girl. It’s embarrassing. I don’t want to have such a sissy for a son. Be more like your dad—don’t you see how he never cries? Don’t you see how he never has any damn emotions?”
Her words strike like a whip, and I freeze, my breath catching.
Sudden fury flares hot in my veins. Now I know why Jason is so quiet and withdrawn when she is around. She is a bully.
Jason’s sobs echo, fainter now, and I’m left kneeling on the floor, my hands shaking, tears streaming down my face. The dragon, my work, has been splattered with ink and ruined—and yet it’s Jason’s tears, Sara’s harsh words, that tear me apart most.
I stand, my legs unsteady, and turn to the canvas. I sit on top of the stool and stare at it for hours, trying to figure out a way to salvage it. To hide this unmistakable damage. Try as I might, nothing seems good enough to salvage it. It breaks my heart, but I will just have to paint another one.