Chapter 9 - THE ART OF BELONGING
That evening, after the guests had departed and the warm spring sun had dipped beneath the western horizon, the estate settled into a quiet, peaceful rhythm.
I walked up the wide oak staircase to the third-floor nursery wing.
The three twin beds were still pushed side-by-side near the high glass window, though now the room was decorated with vibrant floral wallpaper, framed children's artwork, and shelves packed with books and toys.
The girls were in their pajamas, sitting in a circle on the massive plush rug, holding colored pencils and watercolor pads.
"What are you making?" I asked, walking into the room and sitting cross-legged on the floor beside them.
June looked up with a bright grin. "We're making a new drawing for your office, Daddy!"
Lena held up her watercolor pad.
It was a painting of the Wakefield estate, surrounded by high green trees, a bright yellow sun, and four figures standing hand in hand in front of the open front door.
At the top of the page, in neat, beautiful primary school penmanship, Lena had written three words:
OUR REAL FAMILY.
Every letter was spelled perfectly.
I took the drawing in my hands, looking at the vibrant colors, feeling an overwhelming wave of gratitude fill my chest.
"It's the most beautiful painting I have ever seen in my life, Lena," I said, my voice rich with unconditional love.
Lena leaned forward, wrapping her arms around my neck, resting her head against my shoulder.
May you like
"I don't keep my bag under the bed anymore, Daddy," Lena whispered softly into my ear.
"I know, sweetie," I murmured, holding her tight, kissing her soft hair. "I know."
