Continuation of Ava

Of course it was also for them and others.
'I am writing Mat,' she insisted.
She was confident and in a way didn't seem to care anymore, in a healthy and strong way. At 29, she was who she is, and that was, completely put... enough.
She didn't care anymore of what anyone thought, who wasn't beside her and how the summation of others resulted.
She had her own beauty.
She held her own talent.
And forever she would keep going on the treadmill of 'the craft' which she executed with measured alacrity and endurance.
Mother and Father never knew how it would go, when they had her.
Even now, they had her, and still did not know how it would go.
They would look at the photograph of the girl who would grow up to look like her, who, although they didn't know it then, would grow up.
Yes, to grow up.
And more than that, would grow up to be a woman, who would become studious, fall in love, fall out of love, become a writer and travel far.
She was Ava.