Curator of My Own Life

tepped out of the airport and into the familiar

ike an eternity, and all I could thi

e place where he had raised me since my

tine and old oil paint in his studio, the way he wo

y ran to the front door, using t

alled out, my voice ech

le

first thing t

h the sound of classical music

rd the main living area t

en I s

by the large glass d

was a woman I

de hair, and she was wearing one

h, a stomach that was unmist

s, his head bent down as if he we

low, tender kiss that I had only

rld st

left m

d made for him, slipped from my grasp a

turned,

s widened wh

ce a mix of shock and some

il

smiled sweetly,

. Julian has told m

ted to

cry, to demand an expla

I di

ge, chilling cal

ply n

you, Clara," I sa

tulations t

me, his brow furr

ected

ected

another life, that' s ex

nd brutal, flashe

re real th

his same scene and

of abandoning me, and declared my love

hat followe

of a war I had waged,

rd, used every trick,

, broken and alone, watching from a distance as Julian, Clara

t my art, my self-respect,

was a ghos

everything to l

uld not make th

e, I wou

" Julian started, taking a step t

small, simple movement

him, truly l

seen, his dark hair streaked with a bit of s

felt was gone, replaced

ell," I said, forcing

re going to be a father.

lt deliberate, a li

ara, who was now clinging to his arm

his focus entirely on her, on

spectator, an outsider in t

romises, whispered to

ly one who mat

ever le

for me, a safe haven

for what it was: a be

handed the key

ow, of course," Julian said,

you'll be like a big si

lt-in

motion, a painful

y calm exterior a perfect

nds lovel

l all be very