Ray's hand tightened around the frame as he felt the ache in his chest deepen. He remembered how he'd asked her why she hadn't shown him the original painting. "Why do you only have this tiny picture? Where is the big one? Why don't you keep it at home?"
Her answer had puzzled him at the time, but now, standing here in front of the real thing, her words echoed in his mind with a clarity that shook him to his core. "That picture was a gift for your father. And I can't take back a gift, can I? Even if I miss it sometimes."
Ray's knees felt weak as a wave of emotions swept over him. Love, longing, and something more profound—an unbearable ache for something lost. This painting, hidden away in this secret room, wasn't just art. It was a fragment of their family's story, a reminder of a love that had once been so pure, so vibrant, and now felt so distant.
