Chapter 1: Unfinished Legacy
The sky this afternoon hunged low and gray over the whole city.
A light mist sticked to the high windows of the lawyer's office,
It made the outside world looked fuzzy and far away.
Things inside the office felt too quiet,
I sat down in the leather chair across from the big mahogany desk, my hands folded together,
I looked calm, but inside, every part of me felt tight and on edge.
I didn't like being here,
The reason I had to come bothered me even more, the memories in this place pulled up thoughts of my mother.
I lost her when I was still young,
I remembered watching her coffin lowered into the ground.
Some memories didn't fade, no matter how much I tried to push them away.
Mr. Collins, the family lawyer, cleared his throat softly
This older man had worked with the Wynfords longer than I was born.
His voice normally came out calm and even.
But that day… something felt different.
"Adrian," he said quietly
"There is one last thing from your mother's will, she told me to hand it over to you only after your twenty-fifth birthday."
I lifted my eyes to meet his gaze
"Why twenty-fifth?" I asked.
"She didn't give a reason," he answered
"She only said it was important."
He rose from his chair and walked to a nearby cabinet, from it, he pulled out a long flat box.
It's wrapped in brown paper,
Plain,
Simple,
The folds, neat and tight,
A thin piece of twine held it all together.
Shock hit me the moment I saw it,
My mother always wrapped things like that,
Clean,
Exact,
No decorations,
Nothing fancy,
I hadn't seen wrapping done in this style ,since I was a kid.
Mr. Collins set the box on the desk gently.
"This came from her studio. She sealed it herself."
I stared at the box for a long moment,
I didn't reach for it,
Not yet,
A part of me wasn't sure I even wanted to open it.
"What could be in there?"
"It is her last painting," he said
"I thought her final piece was Eclipsed Morning,she finished that some months before she died."
He shook his head.
"She kept this one hidden,she never let anyone saw it. Not even the people in the gallery knew"
I moved my hand toward the box, slow and steady,
My fingers didn't shake, but the rest of me did.
I untied the twine, peeled the paper back layer by layer,
Finally, I lifted the canvas out into the light,
Two children sat under a gentle spread of, golden light,
A boy and a girl,
Warm colors shaped their bodies.
She poured care into every line,
Their hands almost touched ,
The background felt soft and dreamlike,
It blurred, like a memory slipping away..
But the faces…
The faces were unfinished,
The girl's features were faint sketches,
Soft lines,
Vague outlines,
The boy's face is only half done.
My heart pounded once, hard.
My mother never left anything unfinished,
Never.
I ran my fingers along the canvas edge,
The surface felt strange,
Some spots thick with paint,
Others thin and smooth.
She had painted over older layers,
She had hidden colors she didn't want to be seen,
Brush strokes lay buried under the final ones.
"What does this actually mean?" I asked
Mr. Collins let out a slow breath,
"I asked her once, she said it held a message, but the message wasn't ready to be shared."
"A message?" I looked at him
He nodded.
"Yes, she also left this"
He pulled a small envelope from a drawer.
My name sat on the front in her handwriting,
Soft, and elegant,
She wrote like that on kitchen notes, school reminders, little messages she slipped into my backpack.
The sight of it hit me in the chest.
I flipped the envelope over slowly and opened it with careful fingers.
Inside is just one piece of paper,
Not a goodbye,
Nothing comforting,
Nothing to ease the emptiness I had carried for years.
Just one sentence:
"Light survives in the one who remembers."
I read it twice,
Then again,
"Do you know what this means?" I asked him
"No," he replied camly
"She never explained,she only said you would understand when the time was right."
I stared at the words again
"Light survives in the one who remembers."
My eyes moved back to the painting,
The unfinished faces,
The fading edges,
That strange glow around the children,
Alive somehow.
Someone in that painting wanted to stay remembered.
But who?
The girl?
The boy?
My mother?
Or something buried beneath the paint?
"Have you seen these children before?" I asked
"No," he said.
"Your mother kept this hidden, locked away, She made sure no one saw it until now."
That alone was strange.
She was a legend in the art world,
People studied every piece she made,
They photographed everything,
Catalogued everything.
But not this,
This stayed secret.
"Why?" I muttered
"Why hide something like this?"
"I wish I knew," he said gently
"But she sealed it with your name on it. It was for you, Only you."
I folded the envelope
I didn't know what emotion to let in
Was it anger?
Confusion?
Sadness?
A strange pull formed deep inside me.
A feeling I hadn't sensed in years.
A quick memory flashed-
A girl's laughter, soft and distant.
I had pushed that sound out of my mind long ago.
Was it real?
Or did I imagined it?
I couldn't tell.
I stood holding the box and note tight,
Mr. Collins walked me to the door.
"If you need anything," he said,
"letters, records, anything from her studio,just let me know"
I nodded
"Thank you"
I stepped outside carrying the painting
The world waits gray and damp,
Cold air hits me at once.
My driver rushed to open the door, but I barely noticed him.
I slipped into the back seat and set the canvas beside me,
For a moment, I stared at the wrapped box,
It felt heavier than it should,
As if it held more than paint.
"Home," I told the driver.
The car rolled away from the curb,
Rain began to fall,
Soft taps against the window,
I watched drops slide down the glass,
My mind drifted.
The same questions circled again and again,
Why had she hidden this painting?
Why paint two children I don't know?
Why leave their faces unfinished?
What did her message point to?
"Light survives in the one who remembers"
What light?
Whose memory?
What part of my past was calling me back?
I shut my eyes and leaned back.
Behind my eyelids, the painting came alive again,
The golden glow spread,
The outlines softened,
Everything faded like a dream.
As if someone out there needed me to find them.
My mother had never painted without purpose,
So if she saved this for me…
then whatever truth hid in it must be real.
Her message carried weight,
And whoever the girl was,
she was the beginning of everything my mother wanted me to discover.
I opened my eyes slowly
I didn't understand the painting yet
But I will.
Even if it dragged me into the past I had tried to forget, even if it pulled up secrets she never shared,
Even if it led me to someone I never knew existed.
Someone who held the light she left behind,
Someone who kept the memories alive,
Someone who remembered, even when I didn't .