Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Pretty soon, he was home sitting on our daughter’s lap who was sitting on my lap, his belly full from the bottle I’d fed him.
On the other couch, Blair was catching up on sleep while our son carefully lined his little dragons up around her to “keep her safe” while she slept.
And, fuck, it was one of those perfect moments where I realized I had everything—everything—I’d ever wanted.
Blair - 27 years
I ran my hand down my dress, my chest feeling like it was floating as Nico moved in at my side.
Our two youngest—at seventeen and fifteen—were still climbing out of the car, seeming both too adult and achingly young. One was in his adult suit and the other in a pretty A-line dress.
We’d tapped out at five.
Three boys, two girls.
It was the perfect combination for us.
“Full-circle moment, huh?” Nico asked, his hand rubbing my lower back as I looked up at the sign above the door.
The Halberstam Gallery.
I looked up at that black sign with its silver calligraphy every day for so many years.
But instead of working here now, I was going to see my sweet girl’s first-ever exhibition.
I’d known from her first attempt to draw a dog that we would end up here one day. It had been such a rewarding thing to watch her talents grow over the years, to be able to take her to all the museums and galleries I’d been to, had drawn so much passion from, to see her grow in her confidence in art school.
And, finally, to gain so much traction on social media that she’d become a sought-after artist for all the galleries in the city.
Her choosing the one I’d worked in had just made my heart swell.
“It’s amazing,” I said, taking his hand and moving inside.
I’d seen all the art before.
But it was something different to see it on the walls, to hear the discussions of people who wanted to buy the originals, to see our little girl beaming under the praise.
She was our only artist.
Our eldest had followed in his father’s and uncles’ footsteps. I assumed our other sons would do so as well.
As for our youngest, she was still figuring things out. She had nothing but time.
“Can I borrow you for one minute?” I asked, stealing our artist to pull her over toward the canvas that had the least interest—a giant floral bouquet that was a compilation of all of the flowers her great-grandmother had created in her life. It didn’t matter. It was going to be on my wall.
But first, I needed this one photograph in front of it.
Nico and I moved around it with all our children, smiling at the camera.
It was going to be my final post for The Tenth Muse. I’d posted periodically through the years, but it was time to wrap it up. And I wanted to give it a proper send-off.
I uploaded the image, then typed out the caption.
Love: the truest muse the world has ever known.
XX