Page 62 of Breaking Through

Martinez studied the drawing. "But that's not all of it, is it? There's another sketch you need to show."

He meant the one from last week—the same scene but drawn from a different perspective. Where the first sketch showed flames and failure, the second...

I pulled it from my folder. In this version, light broke through the smoke. The support beams still fell, but now the sketch showed both destruction and the moment after, the moment of survival.

"You drew both." Wilson's voice was soft. "The thing that broke you and the thing that made you whole."

"Not whole." The admission came easier than expected. "But healing. Like the shelter walls—Marcus Beltran's storms are balanced by Isabella's gentle waves. Both stories need telling."

"Balance," Mike echoed, adding a final line to his own work. "Like a ranger who used to run from fires, finally finding his way back through art."

"And a Marine who throws pine cones at hikers when they startle him," I shot back, earning surprised laughs from the group.

Peters held up both my sketches. "Can we... can we try that? Drawing the before and after?"

"That's why we're here." I started distributing fresh paper. "Sometimes you need to draw both versions to find your way forward."

The sound of creation once again filled the room. They drew their befores and afters, their broken pieces and healing edges. Some spoke quietly, sharing fragments of stories. Others worked in silence. Mike moved between them like a quiet shadow, offering technical suggestions that conveyed a deeper meaning.

I watched them work, these warriors learning to be artists, and I thought about Holden. About how he'd taught me to find so much beauty in broken places.

The late morning sun slipped through the ventilation shaft, warming the scattered artwork spread across every surface. Some pieces were raw, bleeding emotion onto paper. Others showed careful control, each line measured and precise. All of them told the truth.

"Time check." Mike's quiet announcement scattered the creative focus. "Some of us have physical therapy at the VA."

Peters studied her final sketch—the door transformed into something else that spoke of loss and survival. "What do we do with these?"

"Whatever you need to." I gestured at the shelter walls. "We can store them here, add them to the visitor center display, or—"

"Burn them?" Wilson's lips were still firm and flat, but her eyes were lighter than when she'd arrived.

Martinez gathered his geometric patterns with careful hands. "I'd like to show my kid. Maybe not all of them, but... this one." He held up a drawing where straight lines softened into curves, order emerging from chaos. "Help him understand why daddy counts windows."

"The shelter's open every morning." My voice stayed steady despite the tightness in my chest. "Same time, same coffee. Same ridiculous pastries. You can come and draw or just sit. No pressure."

They packed up slowly, some pieces going into folders while others found homes on the walls. Mike helped arrange them, using his curator's eye to find natural groupings—darkness and light, broken and healing, before and after.

Peters paused at the door. "Your photographer—the one who documents the park's healing? Will he..."

"No photos without permission." It was a promise. This space is yours—your stories, your terms."

She nodded, tension easing from her shoulders. "Next week, then."

After they left, Mike and I stood in comfortable silence. The shelter felt different—charged with new energy. My first sketch still lay on the center table, but it no longer carried the same weight.

"You did good, Forrester." Mike's voice was gruff. "Counted four different breathing patterns evening out while they worked. Wilson's hands stopped shaking after the third sketch."

"They did the work. I just—"

"Showed them it was possible." He picked up my Chicago sketches—both versions—and placed them carefully on the wall. "Showed them that survival looks different for everyone."

I touched the newer drawing, where light broke through the smoke. "Holden taught me that. How to see past the darkness."

"Yeah, well." Mike's smile was subtle but real. "Some of us need a photographer's eye to find our way back. Others need a ranger who understands that healing isn't about erasing the scars, but learning to carry them without fear."

He headed for the door, then paused. "You know what this means, right?"

"That Sarah will insist on even more elaborate pastries next week?"

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