MICHELLE COUNCIL

The ambulance doors slam shut, leaving a silence as heavy as the summer heat. Sixteen-year-old Margo watches her father shuffle through the doorway, his face pale, his steps faltering. "Another heart episode," her mother sighs, guiding him into the bedroom. That afternoon, the freshly ironed uniform of the bank replaced the paint-stained smock of her dreams.

At twenty, she married Charlie, a steady man with a promising career. Four children followed, each a brushstroke on the canvas she was creating. The bank receded into a distant memory, replaced by the endless cycle of cooking, cleaning, and consoling. Suburban Sydney in the 1960s offered no room for a woman with artistic ambitions. Charlie climbed the corporate ladder, his world expanding with each promotion, while Margo's shrank within the walls of their family home.

Years blurred into decades. Children grew and flew the nest, leaving behind an echoing silence. Charlie, a stranger with a familiar face, retreated into his newspaper, their shared world reduced to the ABC news and six pm dinners. The divorce papers the final stark black line drawn across the canvas of their lives.

Alone in the house that had once been a haven, Margo felt her colours drain, becoming invisible. Where was the vibrant girl who dreamed of painting masterpieces? Had she sacrificed herself on the altar of domesticity, becoming a ghost in her own life? She wondered if she had made herself a loving home for everyone and left it too late to create a life for herself. What have I accomplished? How will I be remembered? If I had the opportunity, would I have been more?