The Art of Unloving Him

The next morning, Josie rose early to prepare breakfast for Kira.

Graham came downstairs, the stale scent of alcohol still clinging to him.

Kira clutched her little rabbit plush and ran toward him. "Daddy—"

Before she could finish, his cold, cutting glare rooted her to the spot.

"What did you just call me?" he asked, his voice low and sharp.

Startled, Kira clung tighter to her toy, her voice trembling. "Mr. Holloway…"

He tugged at his tie, visibly irritated, then turned to Josie with a warning. "If you can't teach her properly, get out of my house."

Bitterness welled up in her chest.

That was always his favorite phrase—get out of my house.

Each time he said it, both she and Kira would be filled with fear. But now, for the first time, she truly wanted to leave.

She didn't respond. Silently, she placed breakfast on the table and lifted Kira into her chair.

The eggs and toast were made just the way Graham liked them, but he didn't even glance at the plate. Instead, his tone was icily detached.

"Allison is back. Stay out of her sight for now. She doesn't like seeing you."

Then, glancing briefly at Kira, he added, "Her, too."

Josie looked at the chill in his expression, at the indifference carved into his features. For a moment, she wanted to ask—did he even have a heart?

But in the end, all she could muster was a quiet, "Okay."

After dropping Kira off at kindergarten, Josie went to her studio.

She had once been a fine arts major—talented, even celebrated. Before graduation, she had held her own solo exhibition.

But after giving birth to Kira, she gave it all up for Graham, Kira, and their home. Her paintings became little more than private indulgences, created in stolen hours.

Most of them were about Graham.

She had poured all her love onto the canvas, brushstroke after brushstroke, laying bare the depth of her devotion.

And yet, when he saw the paintings, all he said was, "Stop wasting time on meaningless things. The only person I've ever loved is Allison."

Graham was a block of ice—no amount of warmth could ever melt him.

That day, Josie dragged every painting she had ever made of him out to the edge of the city.

She doused them in gasoline.

Then she lit a match.

If all her efforts had been in vain, then she would choose to let go.

Countless images of Graham's face curled and blackened in the flames, swallowed up and turned to ash. Just like her love for him.

She would let him go, once and for all. Erase him completely from her life.

Suddenly, her phone rang in her pocket.

She answered it and heard the urgent voice of a kindergarten teacher on the other end.

"Kira's mom? Something's happened at school. Please come quickly."