---
š Chapter 8 ā Lines Between Them
The morning after the gathering passed in a slow, careful rhythm.
Some of the guests had stayed the night, and the household buzzed with polite chatter and subtle tension. The kitchen carried the scent of ginger and tomatoes ā breakfast stew in the making. Maids moved through the halls with trays, setting up for brunch. Laughter floated from the garden where some elders were sharing family memories.
Esi kept her distance.
She played the perfect host until she couldn't anymore.
Slipping away quietly, she carried her sketchpad upstairs, where silence wrapped around her like a familiar shawl.
---
The afternoon sun poured into the guest lounge, casting golden light across the floor. Esi sat by the wide open window, her sketchpad balanced on her lap, charcoal pencil in hand.
She hadn't drawn since the marriage.
Since the moment her life became a performance.
But nowā¦ the need to draw felt like breathing.
Not a flower. Not a bowl of fruit. Today, her fingers moved almost on their own, sketching the lines of a woman seated under a tree, head turned away, body poised as if deciding whether to riseā¦ or remain.
She didn't even realize someone was watching until he spoke.
"That's beautiful."
Esi looked up sharply.
Kwabena stood at the doorway, holding a cup of tea, wearing that calm expression that always seemed just slightly too composed.
"You draw?" he asked, walking closer.
She nodded slowly. "I used to. Before everything."
"Why did you stop?"
She shrugged. "I guess I got busyā¦ being who everyone wanted."
He handed her the tea. "What about what you want?"
Esi tilted her head, looking at him. "Is that something your family ever really allows?"
For a moment, Kwabena didn't respond.
"I won't pretend I understand what this marriage feels like for you," he said softly. "But I know it's not just about appearances for me."
She blinked. "Then what is it about?"
He looked down at the sketch. "Maybeā¦ getting to know the person beyond the name. Beyond the expectations."
Esi closed her sketchbook. "That's easy to say when you've always had a choice."
The silence between them stretched.
Finally, she asked, "What happened to Ama?"
Kwabena's jaw tensed. "Amaā¦ was complicated."
Esi met his eyes. "So am I."
She stood up, clutching the sketchbook to her chest. "But I'm not going to disappear quietly."
And then she walked out, leaving him standing in the sunlight ā staring at the chair she'd just left, as if trying to understand the outline of her soul through the art she didn't finish.
---