My phone is lighting up like a Christmas tree. Not the new phone that Braxton gave me, but my old one. It’s Jeff. He’s called and texted more times than I can count, and I'm not sure what to do about it.

It’s only been a few hours since Braxton left to go to work. I’m trying to paint, the picture on the canvas starting to take shape more than it had the day before. It’s clear now what direction the figures want me to go in, and I’m doing my best to be true to them, letting them speak to me with every stroke of my brush. The colors...