Chapter 5 - The Mountain Studio
Salida was cold, clean, and dominated by the towering, snow-dusted peaks of the Sawatch Range. Driving my sleek German sedan down the dusty county road felt like an intrusion, a foreign stain against the raw, honest backdrop of weathered barns and sagebrush.
I found the address near the old railroad tracks at the edge of town: a repurposed brick warehouse with large industrial windows facing north toward the Collegiate Peaks. A freshly painted wooden sign swung gently in the alpine breeze: *Brooks Botanical Studio.*
I parked down the road, shielded behind a line of dormant willow trees. My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged animal. I stepped out into the crisp mountain air, the collar of my wool coat pulled tight against the bite of early spring.
Through the massive glass panes of the workshop, I saw her.
Rebecca was wearing faded denim overalls smudged with dark potting soil and a thick knit charcoal sweater. Her chestnut hair, which I had always insisted she wear down for corporate dinners, was twisted into a messy, practical bun secured with a wooden pencil. She was hauling a massive terra cotta planter with two hands, her face flushed from exertion.
Beside her, an older man with silvering dreadlocks and a faded flannel shirt took the other end of the planter, laughing at something she said. Rebecca smiled—a broad, unguarded, luminous smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.
It was a smile I hadn't seen directed at me in at least three years.
Standing there on the cracked gravel, watching her through the glass, I realized the full monstrosity of my crime. Madeline had not ended my marriage; Madeline had merely been the final, vulgar punctuation mark on years of slow, methodical neglect. I had starved Rebecca of affection, presence, and respect until she was a ghost in our home. Here, surrounded by dirt, cold air, and hard labor, she was breathing again.
I took a step toward the workshop door. My boots crunched against the frozen gravel. The sound carried in the quiet afternoon.
May you like
Rebecca turned. Her gaze swept over the driveway, catching the silhouette of my car, before landing squarely on me. The bright, luminous light in her face vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold, weary stillness that froze the blood in my veins.
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