No matter what she created, no matter what she accomplished, the art she was doing meant nothing to her. She never received the praise she wanted. She would become so proud of her works, but all she heard were negative statements.
"That's okay, but you should do this differently."
And she would. She would do everything to try and make her music, her pictures and her paintings something to be desired. However, it was all in vain. Nobody wanted it. But it wasn't her fault. She hadn't discovered her art yet. All she had been doing was practicing the art of others. Her art was still waiting for her.
She would cry herself to sleep, praying to find her calling. What was her purpose? Did she even have one? Did this world even need her? Why the hell had she been created?
Senior year of high school, she had this one teacher who taught college prep English. This teacher changed the girl's world forever.
It was in this class, she learned how to write essays. Here she learned that her art was writing. From then on she dedicated her life to her writing. She went to Mizzou and broadened and strengthened her form of art. It was here that she met her husband. He was part of the creative writing major, and they spent their four years of college bouncing ideas off one-another. It was at Mizzou that the couple decided to co-write a novel together.
This book became a NY Times Best Seller. The woman loved the spotlight, she craved the attention. After all, she had spent her entire life striving and searching for it.
Every day after their book's success, she dedicated her time to writing her next best-selling novel.
"Jazmine," her husband pleaded softly. "Please, take a break. I need you. Our daughter needs you. Please leave your computer and just spend some time with us. We miss you."
"I can't, Adam," she said typing away, not even bothering to look at her heart-broken and weary husband. "I am on the verge of success. I cannot quit now."
Adam took a deep breath and a tear rolled down his pale cheek. Jasmine kept writing, and Adam went to tend to their beautiful daughter Isabelle. Izzy had received her mother's ocean blue eyes, and her father's curly black hair. She was three now, and knew nothing of her mother aside from her addiction to writing.
Adam knew the art had consumed Jasmine's mind. His wife, his love, was gone. He hadn't seen her for too many years. He taken on three jobs to support the family. And just to make sure Isabelle was fed, he would come home on his breaks.
With deep sadness and something that felt like a tear in his heart, Adam placed a packet of papers on the kitchen table. He packed two bags, one for Izzy and one for himself. His parents were awaiting their arrival.
Adam glanced at his wife's cold, wooden office door that seemed to be miles away, and tears poured down his weary cheeks. He wished he knew how to help. He had tried therapists, psychiatrists and priests. Jasmine had left him so long ago, and he had to leave her now, for the sake of his baby girl.
Resolve filled his chest, or perhaps it was adrenaline, and he picked up his child and kissed her forehead. They left that house and prayed for a better future.
That night Jasmine sent in her manuscript, and the next week it was sent to the printers. Sure enough, it was another best-seller, and with all the press and publicity it took Jasmine three weeks to notice her family was gone. It took her three weeks to discover the packet from her husband begging for a divorce.
Attached to the packet was a post-it with a message from Adam:
I hope it was worth it,
Love,
Adam
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