Chapter 45
All she had left was her dream of being an artist.
She couldn’t let that go. She had always loved to draw and had even studied fashion design for a while in college.
After a moment of thought, she took a shaky breath and began to sketch, forcing her hand to create a smooth line on the paper. Because of her injury, her progress was painfully slow. Just sketching a single dress took her two hours. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t even notice Shawn enter the room.
He had come home from school intending to ignore her, but some strange impulse had drawn him to her bedroom.
For days, she had been glued to Great-Grandfather’s side, barely sparing him a word. It infuriated him. It only proved how petty she was, how undeserving of being his mother.
The bedroom door was ajar, and from the hallway, he could see her sitting by the window, a pencil in her hand, a gentle expression on her face. He walked closer and saw the crooked, hesitant lines on the paper, vaguely forming the shape of a dress.
He let out a derisive snort. “That’s so ugly. Are you trying to embarrass yourself p>
Shawn was young, but his words were sharp. The sudden voice startled Rebekah, and she frowned at him.
He continued his verbal assault. “You have zero artistic talent. What makes you think you can draw? Only Aunt Candice knows how to draw. Her pictures are a hundred times better than yours p>
He puffed out his chest. “You’re a housewife. Your hands are for cooking. I’m hungry. Go make me dinner p>
He thought he was offering her an olive branch. If she cooked for him, he would forgive her.
In Shawn’s mind, she was so desperate to win back his and his father’s affection that she’d jump at the chance.
But he was wrong. Rebekah merely gave him a cool glance before turning back to her drawing, slowly continuing her work.
Being ignored sent Shawn into a rage. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m hungry! Go cook for me!” he shouted, snatching the pencil from her hand and throwing it across the
room.
Rebekah looked at him, her expression cold. “There are maids in this house. All you have to do is ask them, and they’ll bring you food. I don’t need to cook for you p>
He couldn’t believe she was refusing. Before, whenever he said he was hungry, she would rush to the kitchen. He felt a pang of hurt which quickly morphed into greater anger. He grabbed the drawing from the table and ran out of the room.
“What are you doing p>
Rebekah chased after him. Shawn ran downstairs and threw the drawing into the fireplace, watching it curl into ash.
He turned and glared at her. “Your drawing is hideous! It’s
embarrassing! You’re just a useless, housewife, and your drawings are
worse than something Aunt Candice
would doodle p>
“I don’t have a mother like you!” he screamed, his small face red with anger.
Rebekah stared at him, her heart
turning to ice. She remembered
when he was little, a soft and cuddly boy who clung to her. They used to draw together. He would call her “Mommy” and tell her how beautiful her pietures were, promising to buy them for lots of money when he grew up.
Now, he had just thrown her hard work into the fire like it was garbage.
She gave him one last, long look before turning and walking back upstairs. He
was her son, and she didn’t want to hurt him with words.
Back in her room, she picked up her phone and saw another message from Jensen.