The Morning After
24x36x1.5
Acrylic in gallery wrapped canvas
The storm had raged through the night, shaking the windows and rattling the old bones of the house. Now, in the hush of early morning, Megan stood before the glass, her breath faint against its surface. Beads of rain still clung to the pane, distorting the golden light that seeped through from the rising sun.
Wrapped tightly in her thick robe, she felt the warmth of the fabric against her skin, though it did little to quell the unease pressing against her ribs. The storm outside had passed, but the one within her had not.
She traced a finger over the cool glass, following a single droplet as it slid downward, much like the thoughts tumbling through her mind. Last night’s words still hung heavy in the air—unspoken fears, whispered confessions, an argument unresolved. The house was quiet now, but too quiet.
Was he still here? Or had he left?
She dared not turn around, dared not check the space behind her where his presence had been only hours before. Instead, she stood still, letting the golden light wrap around her, as if it might somehow offer the comfort she sought.
A deep breath. A flicker of hope.
The morning had come. And with it, the choice of what came next.
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