Strokes of Fate

Chapter 1: The Prodigal Artist Returns

The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and purple as Zara Frost stood on the sidewalk, her worn duffel bag at her feet and a portfolio case clutched tightly in her hand. She gazed up at the familiar Victorian house, its soft blue paint and white trim a stark contrast to the vibrant sky above. The wrap-around porch, with its gently swinging bench, seemed to mock her with memories of happier times.

A cool breeze rustled through the leaves of the old oak tree in the front yard, sending a shiver down Zara's spine. Or perhaps it was the weight of her failure that chilled her. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of freshly mowed grass mixed with the faint aroma of her stepmother's prized roses.

"Come on, Zara," she muttered to herself, "it's just your family. You can do this." Yes, I haven't seen them in forever, but it's okay. Just go through with it.

With a resigned sigh, she hefted her bag onto her shoulder and made her way up the cobblestone path. Each step felt heavier than the last, the gravel crunching beneath her feet like a countdown to an inevitable confrontation.

As she reached for the doorbell, the front door swung open, revealing her father, Adrian Frost. His warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners as a smile spread across his face, partially hidden by his salt-and-pepper beard.

"Zara! You're home!" Adrian exclaimed, stepping forward to envelop her in a tight hug. The familiar scent of old books and peppermint engulfed her, and for a moment, Zara felt like a little girl again, safe in her father's arms.

"Hey, Dad," she mumbled into his cardigan, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this – missed him – until this moment.

Adrian pulled back, holding her at arm's length to get a good look at her. His eyes swept over her short, auburn hair – now styled in an edgy cut that was a far cry from the long locks she'd left home with – and took in the dark circles under her eyes and the slight hollowness in her cheeks.

"You look... different," he said, clearly trying to find a diplomatic way to express his concern. "Come in, come in. Your mom's just finishing up dinner."

Zara winced at the word 'mom.' No matter how many years passed, she could never quite get used to hearing Vivian referred to that way. She followed Adrian into the house, the familiar creaking of the hardwood floors under her feet a bittersweet reminder of home.

The entryway opened up into the living room, where Zara's eyes immediately fell on the mantlepiece. Family photos lined the shelf, documenting years of milestones and memories. She noticed with a pang that her art school acceptance photo was conspicuously absent.

"Zara? Is that you?" Vivian's voice called from the kitchen, accompanied by the clinking of dishes and the savory aroma of roasting chicken.

"Yeah, it's me," Zara replied, her voice sounding smaller than she intended.

Vivian appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and she wore a crisp white blouse tucked into tailored black pants – looking every bit the high-powered lawyer she was, even at home.

"Welcome back," Vivian said, her tone warm but her eyes assessing. "Dinner's almost ready. Why don't you go freshen up? Your room is... well, it's as you left it."

The slight hesitation in Vivian's voice set off warning bells in Zara's head. She nodded, murmuring a quick "thanks" before heading up the stairs, her bag thumping against each step.

As she reached the second-floor landing, a door to her right opened, and out stepped Kai, her adopted brother. At eighteen, he had shot up in height, towering over her, his frame had witnessed the same growth, athletically built. His dark eyes widened in surprise behind his frameless glasses.

"Zara! You're back!" he exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. He moved as if to hug her, then seemed to think better of it, awkwardly patting her shoulder instead. "I thought I heard your voice. How was the trip?"

"Long," Zara replied with a weak smile. "How's the math prodigy doing? Solved any unsolvable equations lately? Sometimes I wish I could do more than just basic math, but we all have our skills I suppose."

Kai's cheeks reddened slightly. "Oh, you know, just the usual. Differential equations, linear algebra, that sort of thing. Nothing earth-shattering."

Zara nodded, an awkward silence falling between them. It struck her how much Kai had changed in the years she'd been away. He was cute. Gone was the shy, chubby-cheeked boy she remembered. In his place stood a young man, still awkward but with a quiet confidence that hadn't been there before. But he's only 18, and in a few years, he will be just like her. Open to all the possibilities out there.

"Well, I should..." Zara gestured towards her room.

"Oh, right! Of course," Kai stepped aside. "It's good to have you home, Zara."

She gave him a small smile before continuing down the hallway to her room. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and pushed open the door.

The sight that greeted her made her heart sink. Her once vibrant and eclectic room had been stripped of personality. The walls, previously covered in her artwork and posters, were now a stark white. Her collection of art supplies and half-finished projects were nowhere to be seen. In their place stood a generic desk, a neatly made bed with plain bedding, and a small dresser.

Zara's throat tightened as she took in the transformation. It was as if her parents had erased any trace of her artistic pursuits, turning her sanctuary into a guest room. She dropped her bag on the floor and sank onto the bed, her portfolio case clutched to her chest like a shield.

"It's only temporary," she whispered to herself, trying to quell the rising panic in her chest. "You're not staying here forever. Just until you figure things out."

But as she sat in the sterile room that no longer felt like hers, Zara couldn't shake the feeling that she had made a terrible mistake in coming home.

A knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts. "Zara?" Adrian's voice called softly. "Dinner's ready when you are."

"Coming," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.