Grace stepped outside. The evening air hummed with life that did not concern itself with her. The sounds of engines revving on the not-to-distant highway were of people heading home to their loved ones. Dinners would be cooked, days discussed and disappointments traversed all without a single thought about her.
Yet, inside, everything revolved around her. She peered back and saw her family as if caught by a painter. The large double-glazed window looked like a stage, and her family mere actors. The painting would show them at a loss, each in their own unique way. They’d be each off to the side, each looking bemused by some confoundity and each knowing that only the missing person, her, could solve everything.
The lights reminded her of sunflowers, and she’d placed in the centre of the kitchen table, close to where Matilda sit, a giant vase. Should it be empty or is that too obvious a reference to her role in the family?
Grace took out her phone, preserving this image.
Rory’s voice called out for her. He expected her to just answer, as he didn’t even look up.
Grace realised she had two options. One, leave. Two, paint this image as a way of understanding. She had never the words to express herself, so perhaps a large canvas with just the right colours will be the way she can make sense of the life she has fallen into.