Chapter 6: Emily’s Portrait

I was scared to see Emily. My hands shook as I poured a mug of coffee, letting it grow cold while I stared at the backyard fence.

I sat alone for what felt like hours, the only sound the clock ticking, my heart sinking with each passing minute.

Finally, Holly appeared. "Ma’am, your husband sent word to the Shannons—Emily should be home soon."

As the sun set, Emily came running up the porch steps, the sky outside streaked orange and pink.

She ran straight to me, skirt flying, her hands stained with art class ink, a pencil tucked behind her ear.

"Mom!" Her voice broke as she threw herself into my arms, hugging me like she’d never let go.

I held her close, her shoulders shaking, hair smelling faintly of lavender shampoo.

She buried her face in my shirt, tears soaking the fabric.

"Mom, I always thought it was my fault you died…"

My heart twisted. Guilt and love collided inside me.

I grabbed a tissue, gently wiped her cheeks. Her eyes were wide, desperate.

"Emily, don’t cry. Someone attacked me that day, not you."

That year, Michael had gotten on the wrong side of local politics. The trouble found us at a church retreat—a flash of panic, a shadow in the trees.

To save Emily, I put on Michael’s jacket and lured the attacker away. Her scream haunted me for years.

While running, I fell from the cliff, lost my memory, and ended up in Austin, where I met Daniel King. Life had twisted, but given me another chance.

I rocked Emily, stroking her hair, telling her none of it was her fault.

She pulled out a piece of drawing paper, lines wobbly but determined—a portrait of me, hair just the way I used to wear it.

"Mrs. Shannon taught me. It’s you, Mom."

Mrs. Shannon was my friend back then, teaching art at the rec center. Four years ago, when Michael remarried, Emily became her student, often staying at the Shannons’ house.

I studied the drawing, tears falling before I knew it. The smile on the paper was more real than anything in years.

But Emily’s face fell. "Rachel said it’s no good. She said I shouldn’t waste time on art, but Mrs. Shannon said you were the best in Chicago, so I want to be like you."

I smiled, squeezing her hand. "For your age, that’s amazing."

I meant it.

Emily finally smiled, tears drying.

I asked, "Emily, would you leave the Miller house and come to Austin with me?"

She nodded hard, hair bouncing.

Relief swept through me. "Good. I’ll have your things packed. We’ll go in a few days." I kissed her forehead, hope blooming inside me.