Why wasn't Erik saying anything about the painting? Did Serena get to it?

"Where's the painting?" I asked as I stared at the blank wall behind the couch. Everyone else stopped in their tracks though Anna lost hold of Michael, who squirmed out of her arms and ran towards me. He wrapped his arms around my thighs, and as I bent down to pick him up, I realized it was close to impossible to do with only one good arm and a body full of painkillers.

"Why don't you sit down, Sam?" Erik said. He picked up Michael and as I sat down, placed him along my left side.

"Why won't you tell me what happened to my painting?" I asked. "It's the only thing I have left after..." I stopped then, aware that everyone was looking at me.

"Forget it," I mumbled, turning to kiss Michael. I remembered what Erik had said—that there were other things more important than that painting, and at this moment, he was right.

But as much as there was truth to what Erik said, there was one thing that he or anyone else didn't understand about that painting. Strands wasn't just a slice of the Southern California lifestyle, a view of the Strand that traversed down the beach cities. It didn't just feature random people I saw on the Strand during my walks there.

Strands were about my life.

Every person in that painting was someone who made a difference—good or bad—in my life, with the exception of one figure whose back was turned because he was yet unknown to me when I had painted it. Nothing but a dream, a hope. The painting had been over-sized because its subjects were painted life-sized, almost exactly the way they would have looked were the real subjects to stand next to it. It had covered my entire garage wall at one time, just before I moved it into a bigger rented garage down the street, only to be stolen by David, and reappear on Erik's wall later on.

There was Eunice, painted as a younger woman, full of life, walking with her head held high, ageless and beautiful. With her flaming red hair, Eunice was a force to be reckoned with when she was younger, just as she remained when I met her, even though she was already in her seventies, yet still sharp as a tack. She had been the only one strong enough to tame me, using art as a way to get my attention and my respect. Sometimes I wondered if she'd tamed me too much, made me too soft in order to see the world around me in a much more open light, not just seeing all its harsh edges, but also its softness—its goodness.

Rosie and Chuck were in there, too, of course, along with their children, Trevor and Linda depicted as babies carried in their arms. They were mostly idealized versions of themselves, for Rosie would have been horrified if I were to have painted her the way she looked a year before she died. In the painting, she was healthy, vibrant and full of life, just the way I remembered her when I first met her at school.

The woman pushing the stroller had never been meant to represent the dark-skinned nannies and caregivers one saw at the library during reading hour or at the park, caring for their fair-skinned charges, though it was the perfect way to conceal the part of my past that no one knew about. Even now, as I looked at Anna, I knew exactly who I had painted, making the woman's color darker to mask who I really wanted to remember. Maybe Anna had never pushed a stroller in her life, at least with me in it, but in my dreams, she'd been there for me, even though she had only been twelve years old when she had me.

To the casual observer, there were too many subjects for a simple painting, and making it seem that there was no focal point for the eye to look. But there was nothing simple about strands, originally titled with no caps to differentiate it from the place itself, the path where people traversed daily. I had wanted to paint the strands that made up my life, the way I wanted to remember it, the direction where most of the people were headed a spot of light on the right side of the canvas, a spot that bore the silhouette of a man. I had thought that he was waiting for me, or I, him.

But the hyper-realistic painting was gone, and as everyone came forward to welcome me, my heart sank at the realization that Serena had gotten to it. But I said nothing, focusing instead on thanking everyone for being there.

"Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry for what happened," Olivia said, tears streaming down her face as she came forward to hug me.

Behind her, Josh nodded at me, a relieved look on his face. He may be a man of a few words, the sort of man who'd check up on a battered woman on his day off and built stone labyrinths in the shape of his heart for a woman he'd loved for a long time. But at that moment, I knew it was something he would have rather kept secret.

Olivia wanted to know everything. She was a bundle of nerves, telling me that she'd wanted to visit me at the hospital last night but Erik told her not to. He was spending the night with me and that was that.

Erik guided me towards the aunts and uncles eagerly waiting their turn, all of them talking at the same time that I had to laugh while Erik looked annoyed.

"Sam's been through a lot and she needs to get to bed soon," he announced, before muttering under his breath, "Why do I feel like I'm herding cats right now?"

"Does that annoy you, Erik, not being able to control us?" Olivia teased as the in-laws chuckled. "Erik wanted you all to himself today, Sam, but we wouldn't let him."

Erik gave them an evil look. "Five minutes. That's all I'm giving you all to spend with Sam. All of you will have to come back in the morning. She's just had major surgery, in case you've all forgotten." But as he spoke, he was grinning by the time he was done speaking.

The aunts and uncles took their turns to bestow hugs and kisses on me till Michael pushed them away, jealous of the attention I was getting. They laughed and made funny sad faces at him till he left my arms to play with Bella and some new toy he seemed to fancy. They played for about five minutes before he got bored and returned to my side.

Erik's phone beeped and he glanced at it for a moment before slipping it back into his pocket. "That's Collin. Guess it's show time," he said and turned on the oversized TV on the wall in front of us.

"What are we watching?" I asked as one by one, everyone else joined us on the couch though Olivia and Josh stood off to the side. Bella was in Olivia's arms, yawning. I glanced at the clock. It was already past eight, and I couldn't remember if anything else was happening. The trek from the hospital to Erik's house—and all the excitement that awaited me when we arrived—had exhausted me.

"Since you couldn't be there, Collin figured he'd stream the gallery exhibit for a few minutes, so you'll get to see a bit of it at least. Unfortunately, this is a recording from last night."Erik touched my cheek with the back of his hand as the screen flickered to life and Collin's face filled the screen. Collin's brow furrowed in concentration as he was adjusting knobs off to the side of the screen. He reached for something from inside his coat pocket and pulled out his phone.

"Oh, you guys are seeing me already! Thanks, Josh," He laughed nervously, and I saw Josh grin, turning to glance at Olivia who was rocking Bella on her lap. "The feed might be cut off when I bring the camera closer, but hopefully, Sam will see this before it does get cut off. There's just a dead spot on that wall. Anyway, here we go."

Collin did a thumbs-up sign with his right hand and stepped aside to reveal a room full of people with their backs facing the camera. They were standing in the back room of the gallery, where my paintings were set up along the walls on either side of them.

My heart was in my throat as I watched them look at the paintings, feeling Erik's eyes on me the entire time. They weren't my best paintings, and I hated that I'd only had a few weeks to do them. But then there was Olivia's painting, and so far, I considered that my best new work, considering that Strands was gone. I could feel Erik watching me the entire time, and I wondered if he was even paying attention to the TV at all.

Someone was talking, making an announcement of sorts, and I recognized Chase Kolman's voice, followed by Sterling's. They were taking turns to introduce someone's work, and as Collin lifted the camera and began to move through the crowd, I saw that the back wall was completely covered with a white sheet.

"...over a year ago, we discovered a new artist who epitomized the spirit of Southern California," Sterling was saying, his speech continued by his twin brother, Chase.

"—from its sunny blue skies to the indomitable spirit of its people, we're proud to present—"

The feed was replaced by static as Collin drew closer to the twins. Everyone around me groaned, their excitement difficult to conceal. I saw my mother's face as she sat next to me, Michael yawning between us. She was beaming with pride, watching the screen.

"Didn't Collin say there were five artists that were being featured?" I asked, but Erik lifted his shoulders, his expression telling me that if there were, he wasn't aware of it.

The screen came back to life again and this time, Collin had moved a few steps back, away from the dead spot he was talking about.

"—tonight, we're proud to unveil a painting that we thought we'd never get to see again. Hyper-photorealism at its finest—"

I turned to look at Erik, his eyes on the screen, before glancing at the bare wall behind us. "Erik, are they talking about—"

"Shh...you're ruining the suspense, Sam," he whispered, grinning.

"Oh, Erik, you did not—"

This time, everyone shushed me.

Chase and Sterling began pulling down the white cloth, and as they did, Anna began to cry. I fought back my tears, glad that none slid down my cheeks for I'd cried enough tears for one day.

The aunts and uncles began to cheer and clap their hands as the painting was completely unveiled on the screen, only to be hushed by Olivia as they pointed to Bella and Michael. Bella had fallen asleep on Olivia's shoulder, and Michael was conked out on my lap. But the unveiling didn't stop the grown-ups from giggling and talking in hushed whispers anyway.

"Alright, everyone, the five minutes is long over, and it's time for my patient to get some rest," Erik said as he got up from the couch. "Sam's had too much excitement for one day as it is, and we'll all get together tomorrow morning. Brunch."

Everyone else reluctantly agreed, getting up from the couch. Anna remained where she was, dabbing her tears as she watched everyone around her. She seemed uncomfortable with their touchy-feely ways, and I understood how she felt.

Despite my protests, Erik took Michael from my lap, ordering me to remain seated and not move an inch until he returned. Olivia and Josh left with the in-laws, leaving Anna and myself alone on the couch in front of the TV that now showed my painting intact and beautifully presented in its frame.

Anna hugged me, holding me for a long time. I could feel her slight frame trembling. "Mom, if you hug me any longer I'm going to start crying again," I said as Anna let me go.

"Erik really loves you, Sam, and I am so happy for you. So happy I can't help myself. And as much as there are times that we believe we don't deserve things—whether it's the timing, or we simply believe it's all too good to be true, sometimes it's better to silence all that negativity. And accept the good that comes in. I want that for you."

"Have you been reading the same self-help books?" I asked, trying to make light of the situation. It felt weird to listen to Anna say such things, the same Anna who had once replaced me with the drugs she just had to have, the same Anna who—

I paused, realizing what I was doing. Stop it, Sam! I had to stop living in the past. Anna had moved away from that and had finally gotten help.

She shook her head. "Not really. I just wanted you to remember that not all endings are sad, even though it's the only thing you know from growing up with me, and after I had to give you up to the system. But it's not meant to be that way. You deserve a happy life, Sam. And when it comes, take it." She paused, chuckling. "Anyway, that's enough pep talk from me. Who am I to be saying these things anyway?"

"You're my mother," I said, holding her hand.

"Well, there's that, although I could have done better."

I shrugged. "It's never too late to start over, Anna...I mean, mom."

"You can call me Anna, love. Anyway, hell, I'm heading upstairs."

I remained where I was, my arm still resting on the pillows as she walked up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I heard her and Erik talking.

I turned my attention back to the TV screen. Collin, unaware that I was the only one left watching, was still recording. This time, he recorded the photographers taking pictures of the painting, their flashes bouncing off the ceiling to achieve a more diffused lighting on the painting. They'd probably come back in the morning, I thought, to photograph it in much better light. Or maybe not.

Still, the whole scene felt so unreal, even though my mind told me that it was real and that it was happening right in front of me. As I watched, there were people standing in front of the painting, studying it, their eyes wide, their mouths moving as they spoke words I could not hear. They looked excited, happy. They looked like they really liked it.

This was real, I thought. And as Collin panned along the entire painting one more time before saying something about having to cut the feed soon so he could attend to his boss and his clients, I knew I'd seen enough.

The painting, the strands of my life, was untouched. It was safe, and most of all, it was whole. Still, as I pushed myself up off the couch and walked towards the TV screen to take one last look at the painting frozen on the screen, I realized just how right Erik was.

"That was a brilliant idea, streaming the gallery exhibit for you," Erik said, leaning against the wall by the hallway next to the stairs. I hadn't even heard him come down.

"Erik, you didn't have to do all this for me..."

"Of course, I did," he said, his hands in his jeans pockets. He suddenly looked sheepish, like a boy hiding a secret, as he watched me, my good hand still touching the TV screen.

"Do you like what you see, Sam?"

"Oh, Erik, if you only knew," I said though my mind was no longer on the painting. Erik was a beautiful man, inside and out, and I didn't know how to begin even thanking him for doing what he had just done for me.

"I think I do," he said, smiling as he walked towards me.

As he stood in front of me, Erik pulled out a small velvet box from his pocket.

"I was going to do this at the gallery but after what happened yesterday, it had to be pushed back. But I don't want to wait any longer, Sam. I've waited a long time for someone like you and this time, I'm not letting you go."

I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to say anything that would ruin the moment. Was this really happening?

But it was too soon, I wanted to say. We haven't really been seeing each other that long. I have a child. I have a juvie record...

But Erik's words drowned out the objections running inside my head, and at that moment, all I heard was his voice. It stilled the darkness.

"My mother used to say that when you meet that person—the one who's meant for you—you'll know right away," Erik said. "My mother was a romantic, by the way—and so was my dad even though he would never admit it."

He sighed. "Anyway, she used to say that it would feel like at that moment when you see her, meet her, it would feel like a part of your soul split off and the only way you'll know that you're whole again, is when she's near, and when she gives herself to you in return."

But what if I'm not the right one—

Erik opened the box. "Samantha Alyssa Marlin, you've had my heart since I first saw you and..." He paused, holding a ring between his thumb and index finger, and sheepishly grinned. "Well, I want it back, and hopefully with you along with it."

I giggled as he became serious again and cleared his throat.

"Will you marry me, Sam?" He took another step closer and caressed my face, his fingers soft against my cheek. His blue eyes held me fast. "Will you spend the rest of your life with me? Grow old with me? Laugh with me?"

Long lashes framed blue eyes that twinkled. Laugh lines formed outside the corner of his eyes. But Erik wasn't laughing. He really was serious.

And even with all the painkillers in my system, I knew that I sure wasn't dreaming.

So many thoughts raced through my mind then, so many objections. But before my mind could override my heart, I said the words.

"Yes," I whispered as I heard Erik exhale, a relieved smile on his face. "Yes, Erik Maystrom. With you, my answer will always be a yes."

He took my hand and slipped the ring on my finger. "This belonged to my grandmother and then my mother," he said. "And now it's yours."

"Erik, it's beautiful." I held it up in front of the TV screen. It was a platinum ring with a single diamond in the center, small cut diamonds surrounding it on two sides. I looked up at him again, my cheeks hurting from all the smiling.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" I asked.

"Hmm...I've heard the song." He frowned as if trying to remember though I could see his naughty grin beginning at the corners of his mouth. "But my memory's hazy right now. Maybe I need to refresh it."

"I don't mind if you do," I giggled.

Erik kissed me then as if sealing the promise with a kiss that sent the butterflies in my belly fluttering like mad. It felt so surreal—yet so real at the same time.

I heard someone coming down the stairs. Behind me, the door leading to Olivia's house opened as hushed whispers filling the room. Erik lifted his head up and rolled his eyes as everyone he had just kicked out earlier now gathered behind us. Anna was standing by the stairs.

"I thought I told you all to come back in the morning," he groaned.

"Did you do it?" Olivia asked giddily. "Did you ask her?"

As I held up my left hand and showed them all the ring, they all cheered and laughed, the aunts and my mother crying. Erik kissed me one more time as they cheered again, and this time, I finally understood exactly what he meant when he said there were other things more important than a painting.

Love. Acceptance. Family.

Even if that last one felt like herding cats.