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The space heater ticked rhythmically, the only sound against the relentless drumming of rain. Eleanor sat in the chair, her eyes tracing the lines of Vincent’s architectural sketches. / Chapter 8 / 9

Chapter 9 - A Second LifeMonths later.

The workshop was humming again, but not with stress or debt. Vincent was drafting plans for a community center, a place for children like Lucy to learn about the forest.

He sat on the porch, wrapped in the blue blanket.

Eleanor came to visit, not with lawyers, but with tea.

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The heavy mahogany door of the east gallery closed softly behind me, but the silence inside did not comfort me. It pressed down like lead.

The heavy mahogany door of the east gallery closed softly behind me, but...

The cool marble of the private east gallery felt chilling beneath my fingertips. The pale moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated The Blue Woman, the haunting masterpiece my mother had painted just weeks before her tragic death.

The cool marble of the private east gallery felt chilling beneath my fin...

“Are you happy, Vincent?” she asked.

“I’m peaceful,” he said. “And for a widower, that’s everything.”

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