Page 141 of Angel

Grandmother Tabitha had been a kind, lovely woman with a wicked sense of humor and fierce independence.

She’d spent her days rescuing stray animals and baking biscuits that could cure any heartache.

She passed away from old age over ten years ago and left the house to Elsa and me in secret.

Interestingly enough, she cut out Evangeline, stating my half-sibling would inherit more than enough from Reese, who had made it clear there was nothing in his will for Elsa or me.

When I arrived, the temperature was dropping fast as a freezing breeze swept through the valley.

A silver crescent moon hung above the pines, casting pale shadows across the gravel porch.

I bumped in using my set of keys to the place.

I moved shopping bags inside and stocked the kitchen with basic groceries: milk, butter, bread, oatmeal, eggs, fresh vegetables, and ginger ale I got at a store along the way.

I also lugged my wooden crates of art supplies into the sunroom and set up my easel near the glass panels to catch the natural light.

Afterward, I messaged Mimi, Chloe, and Elena, and even Sofia, with an excuse about needing time to get away and paint; then I shut down my phone.

I had holiday owing at the gallery and planned to apply for extended leave ASAP.

The farmhouse had Wi-Fi, but I planned to use only my laptop to connect to the internet and kept my online usage to a minimum.

That first night, after cooking, eating, and locking up, I cried into my pillow for hours.

I just wanted someone to put a comforting arm around me and let me weep until I fell asleep.

My left hand felt bizarrely naked without my wedding ring, the bare skin serving as a reminder of my wrecked hopes.

Falling into a restless sleep, I dreamed of Angel all night.

I missed his muscled arms, the solid warmth of his torso against my back, and his unyielding strength.

When I woke, his face was all I saw.

So I took long walks through the acreage and by the lake, trying to forget him.

Nature helped.

The gorgeous views and the sound of chirping birds calmed my churning heart.

A small woodland was home to squirrels and deer.

Closer to the water, I spotted geese, ducks, and other waterfowl.

Over the next few weeks, I established a quiet routine at the farmhouse.

I woke up early, ate, and painted, adding more vibrant canvases to my Capri collection, using bright cerulean and citrus hues.

To express my inner frustration at Angel, I also rendered several chaotic abstract pieces with layers of charcoal and crimson acrylic paint.

To pass the evenings, I sifted through the old DVDs Tabitha left behind.

I re-watched classic 1950s movies like Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Roman Holiday, and Sabrina.

However, severe pregnancy nausea struck with a vengeance as the days rolled by.

I hit seven weeks, and the round-the-clock sickness only subsided when I was chewing food.