Ya Amar (My Moon)

**Epilogue 1**

The final stroke of brush left her name beneath the end of the painting. The painting was bright yet dark and mysterious. It reminded her of a situation she once had in life. Behind a bright smile was pain and sorrow. Beneath a pretty face was someone who was tired and wanted to live freely without discomfort. Her lips moved upwards as she stared at her final work. Her eyes moved around the studio. The studio was filled with her handiwork. She had an exhibition few days later and she was ready for it. Her last exhibition was a success. The auction was more successful than she expected. All thanks to her beloved husband.

At the thought of him, she felt the emptiness in her heart. She longed for him, for his warmth and to have him next to her. She wanted to trace her hand over his face, watch him with adoration and witness the undying love he had for her. She swirled her head to the left to gaze out at the opened patio doors of the studio. Her eyes lingered into the day. A tender aromatic wind travelled into the studio from the opened windows and patio doors. Blossomed flowers scattered around the field that had once been dull and frozen from winter danced to the misty air. Their opened petals looked intently into the clear sky. Attracted, she rose to her feet before threading to the opened doors.

Vibrant grasses had emerged from the earth adding radiance to the spread. Sanctified droplets eases the vegetation from the past harsh wintry weather. Slowly, her eyelids dropped. She opened out her arms and inhaled the clean wind. Like divine kisses, the beams of the gentle spring sun warmed her skin. The sun had long risen from the horizon, strands of its light inhabited the awakened day illuminating the coming of beauty. She listened to the happy squeak of birds that fluttered from branch to branch of trees.

Her inner peace had begun when she heard the crash and a wail. Her eyes snapped open before she rushed out of the studio into the grand hallway. She had a reason for not closing the studio doors. She knew they would cause a ruckus or end up fighting. Here she was trying to take care of two troublesome kids and she had another one developing in her stomach. She rushed into the play room which was nothing but a mess and there they were. Her little princesses. The elder one who was five years of age played with her doll. The younger one, three years of age, wailed while staring at the scattered doll house as she slammed her little fist against her sister. She does not need to be told what had happened. Hanan had built the doll house and Inaaya had scattered it.

“You don’t do that Hanan. Stop hitting your elder sister” she scolded walking into the room. The three year old stopped and her wails grew louder at the sight of her mother. “Why Inaaya?” she narrowed her eyes at the elder one showing how displeased she was with everything going on.

“I did nothing mummy” Inaaya said with an innocence she hardly had. Their mother saw through it. She saw the adeptness in her daughter’s eyes which were similar pair with hers.

“What have I said about lying?” she scooped the younger one into her arms. Inaaya pouted bowing her head. “Hey there” she grinned at the weeping one. “It’s okay” she pats her back.

“She ruined my doll house!” Hanan wailed.

“I didn’t. I kicked it by mistake!” Inaaya defended.

“Shhhh” she shushed the older one “We can always build it again” she looked back at Hanan planting a kiss on her head, running her hand through Hanan’s thick bush of a hair. They had her African hair and eyes. The difference was Inaaya was a younger version of her and Hanan had taken her father’s face shape and lips.

“Is there a problem here ma’am?” a voice said from behind. She twirled around to look at the person. The housekeeper, a woman in her early forties, stood by the door in white skirt and shirt.

“Nothing serious” she smiled at the older lady. “They just had a little fight. You could send a maid or two up here to clean this room”

“Alright ma’am” the woman returned her warm smile and left.