Strokes of Fate

Chapter 1.1

Zara took a moment to compose herself, running her fingers through her short hair and taking a deep breath. She carefully placed her portfolio under the bed, as if hiding away the last remnants of her dreams.

As she made her way downstairs, the smell of roasted chicken and herbs grew stronger, mingling with the underlying scent of lemon-scented cleaner that seemed to permeate the house. Vivian's influence, no doubt.

The dining room was just as Zara remembered it – the large oak table dominating the space, flanked by high-backed chairs that had always made her feel like she was sitting for a portrait rather than a family meal. The good china was out, she noticed with a mix of appreciation and apprehension. It seemed her homecoming warranted a special occasion.

Adrian was already seated at the head of the table, while Vivian bustled in from the kitchen carrying a steaming dish. Kai appeared a moment later, his nose buried in a book as he navigated to his seat with practiced ease. Zara noticed his long fingers as he turned the pages. He wasn't a kid anymore. He truly had shot up quite a bit and it was astonishing to say the least.

"Kai, no books at the table," Vivian chided gently as she set down the food.

Kai looked up, seemingly surprised to find himself in the dining room. "My bad," he mumbled, reluctantly setting the book aside.

Zara took her seat across from Kai, feeling like an intruder in a well-rehearsed routine. The scraping of chairs and clinking of cutlery filled the awkward silence as everyone settled in.

"This looks great, Mom," Kai said, eyeing the golden-brown chicken with appreciation.

Vivian beamed at him. "Thank you, sweetheart. I thought we'd have something special to welcome Zara home."

Zara felt a twinge of guilt at the effort Vivian had clearly put into the meal. Despite their often-strained relationship, she couldn't deny that her stepmother was trying.

"It does look delicious," Zara offered. "Thanks, Vivian."

A flicker of something – disappointment, perhaps? – crossed Vivian's face at the use of her first name, but she quickly masked it with a smile. "You're welcome, dear. I hope you enjoy it."

As they began to eat, Adrian cleared his throat. "So, Zara, tell us about your trip. How was the bus ride?"

Zara pushed a piece of chicken around her plate. "It was fine. Long, but fine."

"And, um, how are things at the art school?" Adrian ventured cautiously. "We haven't heard much from you lately."

The question hung in the air like a heavy curtain. Zara could feel Kai's eyes on her, curious and concerned. Vivian's fork paused halfway to her mouth.

"I... I'm not going back," Zara said, her voice barely above a whisper. She kept her eyes fixed on her plate, unable to bear the looks of disappointment she was sure were being exchanged over her head.

"What do you mean, you're not going back?" Vivian asked, her tone sharp. "Zara, you've worked so hard to get into that school. You can't just throw it all away."

Zara's grip tightened on her fork. "I'm not throwing anything away," she said, a defensive edge creeping into her voice. "I'm just... taking a break. Figuring things out."

Kai watched carefully, enjoying a meaty piece of chicken.

"Figuring things out?" Vivian echoed incredulously. "Zara, you're twenty-two. It's time to get serious about your future. You can't just–"

"Vivian," Adrian interrupted gently, placing a hand on his wife's arm. He turned to Zara, his eyes soft with concern. "What happened, sweetheart? Is everything okay?"

Zara felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She blinked them back furiously, determined not to break down at the dinner table. "I just... I couldn't do it anymore. The pressure, the expectations. I felt like I was suffocating. Like every brushstroke was being judged, and I was always coming up short. It's not the art I'm used to. It's...restricted. You can't do it this way, it has to be done that way. They don't allow for creativity. Everything is judged through a microscope."

A heavy silence fell over the table. Kai fidgeted with his napkin, clearly uncomfortable with the tension.

"But surely that's just part of the learning process," Vivian pressed, though her tone had softened slightly. "All artists face criticism. It's how you grow."

"It's more than that," Zara insisted, finally looking up to meet her stepmother's gaze. "I've lost my passion. My inspiration. I stare at a blank canvas, and I feel... nothing. What kind of artist am I if I can't even create?"

Adrian leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "Zara, everyone goes through creative slumps. It doesn't mean you should give up on your dreams."

"I'm not giving up," Zara said, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears. "I just need some time to rediscover why I loved art in the first place. And I can't do that with the pressure of grades and exhibitions hanging over my head."

Vivian sighed, setting down her fork. "And what exactly do you plan to do while you're 'rediscovering' yourself? You can't just sit around the house all day."

"I'll get a job," Zara said quickly. "Maybe at a gallery or something. Somewhere I can be around art without the pressure of creating it."

"I might be able to help with that," Kai piped up, seemingly eager to contribute something positive to the conversation. "The Wescott Gallery downtown is looking for interns. I could put in a good word for you."

Zara looked at her brother gratefully. "Kai? That would be great."

"Well, it's a start, I suppose," Vivian conceded, though she still didn't look entirely convinced.

Adrian reached across the table to squeeze Zara's hand. "We just want what's best for you, sweetheart. If you feel this is what you need right now, we'll support you. Right, Vivian?"

Vivian's lips tightened for a moment before she nodded. "Of course. We're here for you, Zara."

The rest of the dinner passed in stilted conversation, with Adrian and Kai making valiant attempts to lighten the mood. Zara answered their questions about her time away as best she could, carefully avoiding any mention of her struggles or the real reasons behind her decision to leave school.

As soon as it was politely possible, Zara excused herself, claiming fatigue from the journey. She retreated to her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.