Chapter 56 Lighter
Lighter
After visiting the salon, I come home, set myself up outside and slip straight into painting mode. My feet are bare, my hair tied up and the music low. Time blurs as I layer soft strokes onto the canvas.
By the time I finish, the boys are home. I don’t want to show them yet. I will… when its hanging up in the salon.
The painting is a swirl of pastel purples, soft lilacs and muted mauves blending like morning fog over the ocean.
Hints of ivory and blush ripple through it, subtle as seafoam.
It’s abstract, but it feels like a deep breath—calm, quiet, intentional.
Like healing on a canvas. The kind of piece that doesn’t shout, but hums gently in the background.
It belongs in a space where people go to feel good.
Maybe that’s why I needed to paint it.
The next day, I wake up with a bit of nervous energy buzzing in my chest.
Lucas has already left for work, leaving the sheets cool on his side of the bed.
I lie there for a while with Gizmo by my side. I stare at the ceiling, practicing the breath work my yoga teacher insists I do more of.
My therapist appointment is today.
I hate talking about my feelings. Hate putting words to things I’d rather bury. But I know I need to. I need help.
I drag myself out of bed and move through my morning routine slower than usual, like I’m wading through water.
The air feels heavy, weighted with all the things I haven’t said out loud yet.
My thoughts drift to the hospital. I make a mental note to stop by and check on Sean later, though the idea makes my stomach twist.
He’s been in a coma for three days now. Three long, silent days. A Google search told me the longer it lasts, the harder it can be to recover.
I try not to think about the last time I saw him awake. The anger. The look on his face. I shake the memory off and head to the wardrobe.
By the time I’m dressed, my nerves are dancing just beneath my skin, humming like static.
I run my fingers over the fabric of my shirt, needing something to ground me.
I almost forget the painting leaning against the wall, until I spot it by the door where I left it earlier. I grab it carefully.
I want to bring it to the salon and hang it up.
Outside, the day is bright and warm. I slide into the driver’s seat and start the car.
My phone connects automatically to my playlist, and “Perfectly Broken” by BANNERS begins to play through the speakers.
The rawness in his voice feels like it’s pulling something out of me I’ve tried to shove back in.
I let it play, my fingers gripping the steering wheel. I try to relax—inhale through my nose, exhale slowly—and tell myself to stop worrying about everything. Just breathe. One thing at a time.
I turn the volume up and let the music drown the noise in my head for a moment longer.
The office is tucked inside a quiet brick building downtown, cozy and unintimidating. I step inside and the receptionist greets me with a kind smile. I murmur my name and take a seat, tapping my fingers against the armrest to keep my hands busy.
After a few minutes, a beautiful older woman appears in the doorway. She has kind eyes, silver-streaked hair, and a presence that instantly settles the tightness in my chest.
“Camille?” she says.
I stand, brushing my palms against my dress. “That’s me.”
She smiles gently. “I’m Miranda. Come on in.”
Her room is sunlit and serene, filled with warm tones and the subtle scent of herbal tea. I sink into the armchair across from hers, still unsure where to begin.
We talk for a while—about how I’ve been sleeping, about stress. We talk about everything with my parents, my family and Sean.
She’s good at drawing things out slowly, patiently.
And then, it slips out.
“Sean,” I say, staring down at my hands.
“He… he overdosed. He’s in a coma.”
Miranda doesn’t flinch. “That must feel so heavy.”
I nod, blinking back the pressure in my eyes. “I just keep thinking… What if I hadn’t given up on him? What if I had stayed, helped more? Maybe he wouldn’t be in this position right now.”
“It sounds like you gave everything you had,” she says gently. “Didn’t you? That’s why you stayed as long as you did, because you thought you could save him?”
I nod again, harder this time. “I did. I really thought I could, I gave him so many chances to. I lost myself trying to save him. I kept thinking of the fun, loving person he used to be. We used to have so much fun. He worked away so whenever he came back it was like a little holiday together. Then the drugs came. He changed. I thought I could save him for a long time. I really tried. But then, I gave up. And look where he is now.”
There’s a silence, but it’s not empty. Miranda lets it hold us both for a moment.
“I feel guilty,” I whisper. “Because even now, after everything that’s happened to him…
I know I’m not in love with him anymore but I still care.
I hate that this—his overdose, the coma—it’s bringing him back into my life.
I’m just so angry at him for doing this to himself.
For dragging me back into the mess I finally escaped.
Then I feel guilty that maybe it’s my fault for not being there for him. ”
I pause, pressing my fingers to my eyes.
“I was relieved when I walked away. I finally felt free. But now? I just feel sick. Guilty. Like I don’t have the right to be angry at him or feel happy about everything going on in my life while he’s lying in a hospital bed, maybe dying.”
Miranda leans forward slightly. “Camille, if he doesn’t make it out of this, then that’s another hurdle we will get past but there’s no use hurting yourself before you know the result.
You need to let go of your guilt. You tried. You showed up. You stayed long after your heart broke. But healing doesn’t mean dragging someone uphill when they won’t walk beside you.”
She pauses, her voice soft but steady. “You are not responsible for his choices. You cannot set yourself on fire to keep someone else warm.”
I swallow hard. Her words hit something deep.
“You were never right for one another,” she continues. “And that doesn’t make you cruel. It makes you human. You loved him. You hoped. But you deserve more than surviving a relationship—you deserve peace, and joy, and to feel safe.”
I nod slowly, and then—because it’s there, beneath the surface—I whisper, “There’s actually someone else. Lucas.”
A smile touches Miranda’s lips. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s… everything Sean wasn’t. Kind. Steady. Patient. I feel safe with him. But I’m scared. What if I get it wrong again? What if I fall apart and he gets sick of me, just like Sean always said would happen with anyone else?”
Miranda tilts her head. “Falling apart doesn’t scare the right person away. It shows them how to love you better.”
That makes something tremble inside me. I blink away tears and breathe deeply.
“You’re allowed to be afraid,” she says. “But don’t let fear keep you from happiness. You’ve done the work. You’re doing the work. You’re allowed to move on, without guilt.”
I nod, wiping at my eyes. “Thank you. Really.”
When the session ends, I book another appointment for next week without hesitation. When I step out of Miranda’s office, the air feels different. Lighter. Or maybe it’s just me.
I pull out my phone and call Lucas. He picks up after the first ring.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, warmth flooding his voice.
“Hey,” I breathe, already feeling better just hearing him. “Where are you?”
“I just popped into the salon to finalize a few things with the trades—plumber’s are on their way and the electricians are finishing up. I was going to call you, the basins came. Want to come see?”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I’m on my way.”
The drive is calm, midday sunlight spilling across the windshield as I head toward the new space.
My new space. I still can’t believe it’s mine.
A slow smile tugs at my lips as I pull up out front.
My dream, finally happening.
Excitement stirs in my chest—but it’s quickly joined by a knot of dread when I think about Sean.
I grab my painting from the boot of the car and walk inside.
Lucas is inside, crouched near the wall, checking some wiring with one of the electricians. He’s got a smudge of paint on his forearm, and his shirt’s slightly damp with sweat. It shouldn’t be as distracting as it is, but I pause, watching him, warmth blooming low in my belly.
I seriously love this man.
He looks up, grinning when he sees me. “Hey you.”
“Hey,” I say, walking toward him. “You’ve been busy.”
He stands and pulls me in for a kiss—slow and sweet, full of the kind of comfort only he can give me.
“I missed you this morning,” I say against his chest.
“I wanted to let you sleep,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over my forehead. “How was the appointment?”
“It was good. Really good. I feel better… lighter.”
He smiles, brushing my hair behind my ear. “I’m glad.” He looks down. “What’s this? Is this your painting? Cam, it’s stunning!” He takes the painting that I was holding under my arm and stares at it in awe.
“Thank you. I love it. Could you please help me put it up?”
“Of course.” He carries the painting over to the spot I’d been staring at yesterday, holding it up and angling it slightly as he assesses the space.
“Here?”
“Yep. That’s perfect.”
He nods, setting the painting down gently. Then he unclips a small level and tape measure from his tool belt, and starts marking out the exact spot on the wall with a pencil.
Once he’s double-checked the measurements, he carefully drills in a hook fitting. Then he steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Would you like to do the honours?”
I nod and pick it up, balancing the canvas on the hook.
I take a step back. Admiring it. I love it.
“It fits perfectly, Angel.”
I smile at him.
He takes my hand and starts walking me through the space, pointing out all the progress.
“The mirrors are getting mounted tomorrow, plumbing’s nearly done, just wanted to confirm you’re happy with where they go and look—the other half of your boxes arrived this morning.”
I glance over to where a pile of sleek boxes are stacked against the far wall—supplies, chairs, shelves. It’s all happening.
“This is really mine,” I whisper.
“It is,” he says, squeezing my hand. “And it’s going to be everything you dreamt of.”
“I couldn’t have done this without you Lucas. I hope you know how much I appreciate you. You said you didn’t want to fix me, but I think you might have saved me. I love you so much.” I give him a kiss.
My phone starts ringing in my bag.
“Hang on,” I say, fishing it out.
The screen lights up. My heart stutters. “It’s the hospital.”
Lucas steps back slightly, watching me as I answer.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Hi Camille, it’s Poppy.” She pauses. “It’s Sean.”