Chapter 80

• The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of Cleo’s brushes against the canvas filled the small, sun-drenched studio. It wasn’t the frantic, desperate rhythm of her earlier paintings, the ones filled with the raw emotion of her past trauma. These strokes were deliberate, confident, each one imbued with a quiet joy that emanated from deep within. She was painting a series depicting the changing seasons of Seabrook, a vibrant celebration of the town that had become her refuge, her haven. The autumn piece, already nearing completion, showed a breathtaking landscape, the fiery hues of the leaves reflected in the calm waters of the river. It was a scene of serene beauty, a testament to the peace she had finally found.
• This wasn't just a painting; it was a reflection of her inner landscape. The vibrant colours were a mirror of her renewed spirit, the intricate details a representation of the meticulous care she now took in nurturing her life. Each brushstroke was a prayer of gratitude, a testament to the healing power of love and community. She wasn’t just painting the landscape; she was painting her own journey, a journey from darkness into light, from despair into hope. She could feel the weight of her past lifting, replaced by a lightness, a sense of accomplishment that filled her with a deep sense of satisfaction. The painting, when finished, would be not only a piece of art, but also a symbol of her personal transformation.
• Rowan, meanwhile, was immersed in a different kind of creation. He stood in his workshop, the scent of sawdust and varnish filling the air, his hands expertly shaping a piece of cherry wood. He was carving a rocking horse, a magnificent specimen with a flowing mane and tail, destined to bring joy to a child. This wasn't just carpentry; it was an act of love, a tangible expression of his desire to nurture and protect. The smooth curves of the wood felt comforting under his calloused fingers, a tactile reminder of the healing process he had undergone.