It was hard for me, doing these big sloppy paintings. The only way I could do detailed stuff was when I used this paint program that Mona put on one of the Professor’s old laptops for me, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing was the same.

I didn’t know what I was doing in the studio right now. I should have been in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess Daniel and I made before the Professor came home. Or worse, if Goon came upon it before I got the chance to tidy. Goon was invariably grumbling and cranky at the best of times, so I tried not to give him anything concrete to complain about. I lived here on the Professor’s sufferance and generosity, and I knew I shouldn’t abuse the privilege.

But I couldn’t make myself go back into the kitchen. Not just yet.

I was . . . I want to say sad, but that wasn’t really it. I did feel sad, but I also felt relieved, and guilty, and kind of mean-spirited for breaking up with Daniel the way I just had. It really did come out of the blue for him.

I sighed. Well, right or wrong, the deed was done.

It was dark, here in the greenhouse. The only illumination filtered in through the door behind me, but it wasn’t strong because all I had lit in the room beyond was a small table lamp. When I looked at the walls of windows, I could easily see past my faint reflection to the gardens beyond. I’d like to roll my chair out there, look at the stars and breathe in the night air, but I knew it was too chilly to go as I was and I didn’t have the energy to go back inside and get a jacket. It was mild out there this evening, especially compared to the winter that was still a visible memory at the back of the garden where patches of snow vied for space with the first green shoots of tulips and crocuses. But it wasn’t T-shirt weather.

This past winter had felt relentless. It started to snow right after Halloween and the snow stayed on the ground, thick and deep, until just recently. I was tired of it. Tired of the weather making it harder for me to get out of the house. Having to wait for the ploughs to come before I could take my wheelchair out onto the sidewalk.

I lifted my left hand and held it up in front of my face. The tremor wasn’t so bad today. I lifted my right hand and slowly made a fist, uncurled my fingers. It was like walking was for me these days. I had to think about it.

Another sigh escaped me.