Sunlight poured through the studio windows. Perfect light. Artist's light. Emma's light.

She stood before her canvas. Brush in hand. Paint on palette. Colors mixing. Blending. Creating.

The painting taking shape. A garden. Wild. Untamed. Flowers growing without permission. Without order.

Like her. Like she was becoming.

Emma stepped back. Looked at her work. Really looked.

And smiled. Real smile. Not fake. Not forced. ...