Chapter 4 - The Canvas and the Lake
Two months after Thomas left, the divorce papers arrived via certified mail. His Chicago attorney had drafted an equitable settlement: half the equity in the Madison house, half the retirement accounts, and generous spousal support. Thomas believed that throwing money at my silence would alleviate the sting of his cowardice.
I signed every page without demanding an extra cent, but I added one non-negotiable clause: the Madison house was to be sold immediately, the proceeds split evenly, and all communications regarding our adult children would occur exclusively through email.
By August, the house was sold to a young couple expecting their first child. I packed my belongings into a moving van and signed a two-year lease on the light-filled loft above the art studio in downtown Madison, overlooking the shimmering blue waters of Lake Monona.
The space was breathtaking. Exposed brick walls, ten-foot windows that caught the morning breeze, and wide plank floors that smelled of linseed oil and cedar. For the first time in my life, nobody was telling me what to cook, when to turn down the music, or how to arrange the furniture.
I cut my long, tired hair into a sharp, chin-length bob that highlighted my cheekbones. I bought silk blouses in emerald green, structured linen trousers, and tailored coats that actually fit my frame instead of hiding it. I began running three miles along the lakeshore path every morning at sunrise, feeling the cool Wisconsin air fill my lungs, burning away the lingering remnants of heartbreak.
And every evening after the clinic closed, I painted.
I didn't paint safe, pretty landscapes. I painted the visceral truth of transition—deep indigo waters churning beneath bruised violet skies, abstract strokes of gold breaking through fractured charcoal textures, the raw, beautiful agony of being pulled apart and putting oneself back together.
"Mom, you look... incredible," Nathan said over FaceTime one Sunday evening from Milwaukee. He was leaning against his dorm desk, staring at his screen with genuine awe. "Like, you look ten years younger. What happened to your mom sweaters?"
"Your mom sweaters are retired, honey," I laughed, holding up my phone to show him my studio space. Canvases lined the walls, and jazz music drifted softly from the turntable in the corner. "How are your midterms going?"
"Great," Nathan smiled, before his expression turned cautious. "Dad called me yesterday."
The light mood in the room dipped slightly. "Oh?"
May you like
"He sounded stressed," Nathan said, rubbing his neck. "He asked if I’d heard from you. He said Camille is throwing a lot of dinner parties for her media friends and he's having a hard time keeping up with the commute. He asked why you changed your phone number."
"Because there is nothing left for your father and me to discuss," I said gently. "He made his choice, Nathan. And I have finally made mine."
