Over the next few days, Brittany felt stretched thin, exhausted from the tumultuous changes in her life. When she awoke, she found that, often, Paul had already left for work, giving her free reign of the apartment—along with the credit card, splayed out on the dining room table, with a note: “Have at it.” Brittany’s years of being destitute, constantly broke, fell away, as she called a private car and rushed around town, buying new clothes, choosing expensive, six-dollar lattes and feeling generally on top of the world—for a moment, at least. But the feeling didn’t last. Nothing ever did.

On the third day of married life, after calling to ensure the money had gone through to her account, she was told that her classes would resume in a few weeks’ time—giving her a “summer break” of sorts. As it was late May, she found herself stretched out on the terrace, soaking up the sun, with a book on her lap. Disgustingly, her ring glinted on her finger, a constant reminder of how far she’d conned herself from the truth.

Without warning, the door burst open to the apartment, leaving Brittany to leap up, wearing only a bikini, and glare at Elena, who’d marched through the door like she owned the place. Chewing at a piece of bright pink gum, she clacked to Brittany, saying “Oh. Good. I assumed you’d be here. Not like you have to live in the real world any longer, right?”

Bursting toward her, the woman dragged Lea by her thin arm, joining Brittany on the terrace. Lea wore a pair of jean overalls, with a pink ribbon in her hair, making her look prim and perfect, like a doll.

“The lawyer suggested I bring her over here, you know. To make it seem like I’m ‘trying’ to work with Paul, the bastard. You know, he cheated on me? He’ll cheat on you, too. Just wait.”

Brittany remained standing, incredulous.

Elena spoke once more, as if she didn’t notice that Brittany hadn’t uttered a word. “But anyway, I don’t have much of a choice right now. Have to run. Have to leave her with you. The evil step-mother.” She cackled, tossing her head back. “Good luck, chump. Now you’ll know how hard this gig really is.”

As Elena clattered out on long, six-inch heels, Brittany peered down at the tiny girl, hating how lost and bright-eyed she looked—as if she couldn’t comprehend the monsters, swirling around her. Drawing a towel around her half-naked form, Brittany leaned down, looking at her, hunting for something to say.

“Do you—do you like television?” she stammered, hating how foolish she sounded.

“I hate it. Mom always makes me watch it when she’s doing her nails. Blech,” Lea responded, tossing her hand in front of her face.

“Well, what would you like to do?” Brittany asked.

“I don’t know. Daddy’s not here?”

“Not here, no,” Brittany murmured, pressing her lips together. She’d never pictured herself as the mothering type, had always avoided babysitting gigs and her friends with kids, hardly able to toss a ball with one without feeling she was making a misstep.

Walking into her bedroom, she felt Lea following her, running her fingers along the wall. Brittany began to change, drawing her eyes away from Lea, and donning a white sundress. As she turned back, she watched as Lea’s eyes were drawn toward a sketchbook and paints she’d purchased the previous day, on her credit card binge. Reaching forth, she lifted the paintbrush with a flourish, pretending to paint a portrait across the white walls.

“Are you an artist?” she asked.

“Kind of. I’m in training to be,” Brittany answered, easing onto the bed and watching Lea with curiosity. “Do you ever paint or draw when you’re at home?”

“Mom’s not into it,” Lea responded, continuing to paint an invisible painting.

An idea began to cultivate in Brittany’s mind, then. Tilting her head and gazing out at the sunny city below, she said: “Well, why don’t we go outside now and do a bit of drawing?”

“You’d give me something to draw on?” Lea asked, incredulous. Her pretty mouth dropped open, revealing bright, pearl teeth.

“Of course.”

Brittany prepped a bag for them, filling it with a sketchbook, several pencils, and books for hard surfaces. Guiding them toward Prospect Park, she held onto Lea’s hand and listened to her tell her stories of school, of her friends, as Brittany glared at any passersby, suspicious they would harm Lea in some way. In charge of a child for the first time ever, she rose to the task like a lion.

They spent the afternoon in the park, drawing people and trees and flowers, and giggling together, drawing their heads close to discuss lines and shadings—things Brittany could show Lea, which Lea was fascinated by. When their lines drew tired, their faces grew freckled and sunburnt, Brittany guided Lea back to the penthouse, stopping briefly for an ice cream cone and then guiding her toward the elevator. The pages they’d drawn together were tucked safely in her bag.

When they entered the penthouse, Paul stood gruffly from a dining room chair, gazing at them both as if he were seeing them for the first time. Lea rushed forth, wrapping her arms around his waist and squealing out: “Daddy!” He lifted her, spinning her exactly once, and then delivering a robust kiss on her cheek. Glancing toward Brittany, he looked curious.

“And where were you?”

“We were at the park, Daddy. Brittany’s an artist. She knows how to draw!” Lea said, tossing back to the tile below and reaching into the bag to show him both her and Brittany’s drawings.

Slowly, as Paul interacted with his daughter, a smile stretched across his face. Brittany hung about awkwardly, sensing his pleasure, and loving watching the two of them together: how he toyed with the curls on her head and gave her little, silly compliments, which made her giggle. When she raced toward Brittany’s bedroom to grab another passel of pencils, Paul reached toward Brittany, tapping her on the shoulder. “You’re good with her,” he murmured.

It was as if he didn’t want to get too close. As if he wasn’t sure what he would do. The tension between them had grown once more, after a depleted few days, after the exhaustion of the wedding party. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then spoke: “She dropped her off when she knew I wouldn’t be around, didn’t she?”

“Something to that effect, yes,” Brittany affirmed, shifting her weight. “I’m sorry—“

“Don’t be,” Paul said, his voice soft. “I’ll call Elena later on. Ask her what her plan is. But it seems you don’t have much of a problem being with her…?”

“It’s been a surprise, actually. A welcome one,” Brittany said, tossing her blonde hair behind her ears anxiously. Why was he looking at her with such dark, earnest eyes? “I’ll take her for as long as she’ll have me.”

Without waiting for him to say thank you, Brittany tossed forward and joined Lea in the bedroom, drawing alongside her and wondering if there wasn’t something between her and Paul, after all.