Chapter 16
Damon and I never returned to the marriage we had.
That was impossible.
The question became whether we could build another one.
For a long time, I did not know if I wanted to.
He accepted that.
Mostly.
One evening, almost two years after the portrait studio, we sat in the same room.
Renovated now.
The dented paint tray remained.
Not intentionally.
Staff forgot to throw it away.
Damon noticed.
“So dramatic.”
I laughed.
“You were wearing half the paint.”
“You hit hard.”
“You started it.”
“True.”
Progress.
The original family portrait had been restored except for one thing.
I refused to repaint my face perfectly.
A faint shadow remained where Oliver’s brush had crossed it.
Damon asked why.
“Because pretending it never happened feels dishonest.”
He nodded.
Then looked at his painted image beside mine.
“Do you want me removed?”
Real question.
Not accusation.
I thought.
“No.”
He exhaled.
Not relief exactly.
Something softer.
“We’re still married?”
“Technically.”
He smiled.
“Romantic.”
I looked at him.
“Do you want to be?”
He took a long time.
Then:
“I want to be your husband without needing that to make me powerful.”
Good.
“And I want to be your wife without treating your concerns as automatic insecurity.”
His eyes filled.
That was mine.
We had both failed differently.
Not equally.
Differently.
We did not put our rings back on that night.
Mine had been cleaned and stored.
His too.
Months later we chose new bands.
Simple.
No restoration of the old symbol.
New agreement.
May you like
Oliver thought they were boring.
Correct.
