Two weeks had passed since I started working at the gallery, and I was beginning to feel like myself again. Not the Emily who had spent three years waiting for scraps of affection, but the Emily who had dreams and opinions and a voice worth hearing.
"Emily, could you help me hang this piece?" Sarah called from across the gallery. "I trust your eye more than mine."
I smiled as I walked over to help her position a large abstract painting. The artist had used bold strokes of blue and gold that reminded me of freedom. When was the last time I had felt free to create something beautiful?
"Perfect," Sarah said as we stepped back to admire our work. "You know, I have been thinking about giving you more responsibilities. Maybe you could help organize our next show?"
I smiled. "Really? You would trust me with that?"
"Emily, you have an artist's eye. I have seen the way you look at these pieces, the way you understand what the artist was trying to say. Plus, Mrs. Chen mentioned she might be interested in showcasing some local artists. I think you would be perfect for organizing something like that."
Local artists. I immediately thought of the painting I had hidden in my motel room, the one I had started the night after I left Alex. It was rough and unfinished, but it had felt good to hold a brush again.
"I would love that," I said, and meant it.
The day was filled with customers coming in and moving out and many phone calls. When we closed, I felt genuinely tired but satisfied. This was what fulfillment felt like, working for something that mattered to me.
When I got back to the motel that evening, Mrs. Martinez was watering the small flower bed by the entrance. She looked up when she saw me, and she gave a warm smile.
"How was work, dear?"
"Really good. Sarah wants me to help organize a local art show."
"That is wonderful. You are blooming again, Emily. I can see it in your eyes." She set down her watering can. "Speaking of which, Miguel mentioned he wanted to talk to you about something. He is in the office right now if you want to see him."
My pulse quickened slightly. I had been thinking about Miguel more than I cared to admit since that first day when he and Mrs. Martinez had fed me. The way he had been so gentle, so kind without asking for anything in return.
"Oh, okay. Do you know what he wanted to talk about?"
Mrs. Martinez smiled again."Go find out."
I walked to the small office behind the front desk; I felt nervous suddenly. Miguel was bent over some paperwork, his dark hair falling across his forehead. He looked up when I knocked on the doorframe.
"Emily." His face lit up in a way that made my stomach flutter. "How was your first day back at work?"
"It was two weeks ago, Miguel. I have been working there for a while now."
He laughed, running his hand through his hair in that gesture I was beginning to admire. "Right, sorry. I guess I have been thinking about asking you this for a while now." He stood up, suddenly looking nervous. "Mrs. Martinez told me about the art show you are organizing."
"Yes, for local artists. Why?"
"Well, I paint. Not professionally or anything, but I have some pieces I have been working on." He gestured to a corner of the office where I noticed a few canvases leaning against the wall, covered with cloth. "I was wondering if you might look at them and tell me if they are good enough to be in a real gallery."
The vulnerability in his voice touched something deep inside me. "You are an artist?"
"I try to be. I paint people, mostly. Street scenes, everyday moments that most people walk past without noticing. I try to find beauty in ordinary things." He paused, looking at me carefully. "What about you? Do you paint?"
The question caught me off guard. "I used to. I have not in a long time."
"Why did you stop?"
Such a simple question, but the answer was complicated. I stopped because Alex never showed interest. I stopped because there was no room for my dreams in our house. I stopped because somewhere along the way, I forgot that my own happiness mattered.
"Life got in the way," I said finally.
Miguel nodded like he understood. "Life has a way of doing that. But maybe it is time to make room for it again."
He walked over to the covered canvases. "Would you mind looking at these? I value your opinion."
I nodded, and he pulled away the cloth covering the first painting. My breath caught in my throat.
It was a street scene, but not like anything I had seen before. He had painted an elderly man feeding pigeons in Washington Square Park, but the way he captured the light, the gentle expression on the man's face, and the way the pigeons seemed to dance around him—it was beautiful. Really beautiful.
"Miguel, this is incredible."
He pulled away the second cloth. This one showed a mother pushing her child on a swing, both of them laughing. The joy in their faces was so real I could almost hear their laughter.
"You have real talent," I said, and I meant it. "These belong in a gallery."
His smile was so bright. "Really? You think people would want to see them?"
"I know they would." I studied the paintings again. "You really do see beauty in ordinary things."
"Maybe that is why I see it in you."
The words hung in the air between us. My heart started beating faster, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks. When was the last time someone had looked at me like that? Like I was something precious?
"Miguel..."
"I know you have been through something difficult," he said quietly, stepping closer. "Mrs. Martinez did not tell me details, but I can see it in your eyes sometimes. This sadness that should not belong to someone so young and beautiful."
I should have stepped back. I should have remembered that I was still married, still technically someone else's wife, but Miguel was looking at me like I mattered, like I was worth seeing.
"I left my husband," I found myself saying.
"Good," he said simply. "Any man who let you walk away does not deserve you."
The certainty in his voice made my chest tight. "You do not know what happened."
"I know enough. I know that you light up when you talk about art. I know that you are kind and gentle and stronger than you think. I know that whoever hurt you was a fool."
We were standing so close now I could smell his cologne, something warm and simple that reminded me of safety.
"Emily," he said softly. "Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night? Just dinner, nothing more. I would like to know more about the woman who sees beauty in paintings the way I try to see it in people."
Every part of my brain said no. I was still married. Still healing. Still broken in so many ways.
But looking into Miguel's cool eyes, I felt something I had not felt in three years. I felt wanted. Not as a possession or a burden, but as a person worth knowing.
"Yes," I whispered.
His smile was like sunrise. "Yes?"
"Yes, I would like that."
That night, I lay in bed thinking about Miguel's paintings, about the way he had looked at me, and about how it felt to be seen as something beautiful instead of something broken.
For the first time since I left Alex, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.
Tomorrow, I will have dinner with a man who painted ordinary moments and made them extraordinary.
Maybe it was time for my own ordinary moments to become something beautiful too.