Page 3 of The Art of Loving You

My finger hovered for a split second before I pressed send. The message delivered with a quiet ping that echoed in the silence.

No going back now.

CHAPTER TWO

Ella

The chrome hands on my mother’s kitchen clock ticked steadily, grounding me amid the morning chaos. The scent of fresh coffee mingled with the faint sound of Bess fidgeting at the table, her small fingers tapping a rhythm against the wood. Her energy hummed brighter than usual, filling the room with a palpable buzz.

“Do you think they’ll have crayons or markers?” she asked, twisting the corner of her napkin between her fingers, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Markers, probably,” I replied, flipping pancakes onto a plate, the aroma wafting toward her. “But remember to ask nicely before borrowing.”

“Okay!” she chirped, her excitement infectious, her joy a warm light in the morning gloom.

I smiled despite the swirl of thoughts racing in my head. Today was a big day—Bess’s first at a new preschool. But more thanthat, it was another step toward something permanent that felt exciting and daunting.

She peeked at me over the table. “Did you pack my pink lunchbox?” Her voice was a mixture of innocence and trust.

I pointed to the counter where it sat, ready to go. “Sandwich, apple slices, those crackers you love, and your favorite juice box.”

“The orange one?” she asked, her face lighting up with a satisfied grin.

“Of course,” I said, setting her plate down. “I wouldn’t risk ruining your big day.”

As she dug into her pancakes, my parents shuffled into the kitchen. They move slower these days, and their steps were heavy with age and responsibility. They had done so much for Bess, but the strain was clear—fatigue in their eyes, the weight of the past on their shoulders.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Mom greeted, sinking into her chair with a weary smile.

Dad reached for the coffee pot, ruffling Bess’s curls. “Ready for the big day?”

“Yes!” she said through a mouthful of pancakes, her words muffled but enthusiastic.

Dad shot her a playful scowl. “Chew first, then talk.”

Bess giggled, swallowing quickly, but my heart squeezed. They adored her, but they were tired. This wasn’t the life they had planned, and I could see them longing for a quieter time.

I took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of my decision. “I was thinking… maybe it’s time for Bess to move in with me full-time.” The words hung in the air, promising change and new beginnings.

Silence stretched across the kitchen as we all absorbed the gravity of my decision. For a moment, our eyes met—a silent acknowledgment of relief and responsibility—before Mom broke the quiet.

“Are you sure, Ella?” her voice trembled with concern. “You already juggle so much with the museum.”

I met her gaze steadily. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. You’ve done so much, but it’s my turn now. Bess needs stability, and I want her to have that with me.”

Dad exhaled thoughtfully as he nodded. “It’s a big responsibility, but you’re ready. And remember, we’re just down the street if you need us.”

Mom’s hand found mine, her smile tender despite the fatigue in her eyes. “She’s lucky to have you. Your sister, Kelly, would be proud.”

Her words stung just a bit, but I brushed aside the ache. Glancing at the clock, I added, “Speaking of which, we need to get going. Come on, Bess.”

“Coming!” she yelled joyfully, sprinting toward her backpack with the boundless energy only a four-year-old could muster.

Outside, my parents lingered on the porch, their smiles warm and encouraging even as fatigue etched the corners of their eyes. The ride to preschool was filled with Bess’s delightful chatter—her lively enthusiasm transforming the car into a safe haven of excitement and hope.

“Aunt Ella?” she suddenly inquired while tugging at the hem of her dress.

“Yes, sweetheart?” I replied.

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