Chapter 3:A Warm Trace
I woke up before alarm was set to ring,the room was dim, only a pale line of morning light slipped through the curtains.
I stared at the ceiling for a while, turning the same thought in my mind
The painting!
I had placed it in a drawer the night before, but it still felt close,too close
Like something I needed to understand before it slipped away again
I pushed the covers off and sat up,my muscles felt tight from the restless night
I walked to the bathroom,took a quick bath, and stared at myself in the mirror,
Dark eyes,
Tired expression,
A mind that refused to slow down.
I sighed,"It's too early for this."
I walked into the living room and got dressed in a simple black shirt and dark blue trouser,went straight to the drawer.
I paused for a second,
Then i pulled it open
The painting lay inside the box, exactly where I left it,wrapped and still.
I lifted the box out and placed it on the small table,removed the lid and pulled the canvas out.
I looked at it again,
Two children,
Soft colors,
Smooth brushstrokes,
But those unfinished faces still held me in place. I studied them carefully, trying to see something new,something I missed.
The boy,the girl.
The warm glow behind them,the gentle light at the edges,I frowned a little.
Had this shade always looked this warm? Or was did I simply noticed it more today?
No strange shine,no impossible change,Just a softness i couldn't explain.
I reached out and brushed my fingertips along the wooden frame"What were you trying to say, Mum?"
My mother always said art spoke,Sometimes in loud colors, sometimes in whispers but it always spoke.
I stared at the canvas for a long moment,then checked the time
I have a meeting later so i need to get going.
But something inside me refused to walk away just yet.
I leaned closer to the canvas. The light behind the children almost seemed to warm the whole picture, even though i knew it was just paint.
Just pigment,just my mother's hands trying to capture something she felt.
I whispered, "Why hide this? Why leave it with me?"
"No answer,of course!"
I rubbed the back of my neck,I should be leaving for work now,but my feet stayed still.
I looked around the penthouse,everything was neat, organized, modern.
A place built for the man I have become,but the painting felt like it belonged to another life,a life i couldn't fully remember.
I picked up the canvas again,turned it slightly,tilted it,studied the lines.
Then something caught my eyes,not a glow,not anything strange,
Just a thin brushstroke hidden under the first layer,a stroke that didn't match the rest.
I raised my brows a little,
"What is that?"
It looked faint,almost like his mother changed her mind while painting,maybe she started something else underneath, then covered it to try a new idea. Artists did that sometimes.
Still,it made me curious,
I leaned closer. "There's more under here, isn't there?"
I wasn't sure why the thought pulled me so strongly,it wasn't fear,more like the feeling when i used to solve puzzles as a kid,a quiet urge, gentle nudge.
A soft buzz came from my phone on the counter,a reminder about work,i sighed and forced myself to step away.
I wore my suit jacket, grabbed my keys, and headed out.
Outside, my driver opened the door of the black car. I entered and sat back, but I didn't look out the window
My mind stayed with the canvas lying in my drawer.
The car moved through the city, tall buildings, busy streets, people everywhere,but none of it pulled my attention.
I found myself whispering, "Why does this matter so much?"
I didn't have an answer.
When i reached Wynford Corporation, I stepped into the main lobby,workers had already resumed for the day.
Assistants hurried behind me with tablets and folders, Meetings, reports, deadlines,my day was full like always.
But while i sat in the conference room, I kept drifting off,my mind slipped back to the painting again and again.
I barely touched my coffee.
I missed half of what one board member said.
At one point, my personal assistant, Mr Rowan leaned close and whispered, "Are you alright, Mr Adrian Wynford?"
I nodded "I'm fine"
I wasn't fine,not even close.
The meeting ended late,I returned to my office, sat behind my desk, and stared at the glass wall overlooking the city.
I tried to focus on the files in front of me,budget reports,partnership drafts,new project proposals.
But the painting sat in my mind like a soft tug.
I sighed and pushed the papers aside leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.
I saw the girl in the painting,that blank unfinished face.
Something about her bothered me, not because she looked scary,she didn't. She looked gentle,lost,Waiting.
I whispered "Who are you?
I was so worried and i was overthinking everything,maybe grief had chosen this moment to crawl back into my life.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling
I opened my drawer and pulled out the envelope with the note and unfolded it again
"Light survives in the one who remembers."
I read it slowly,three times.
My mother always wrote with purpose,she never chose her words carelessly.
I whispered the line again, "Light survives… in the one who remembers"
The message made something stir in me,something sad,something I couldn't shape into words.
I placed the note on my desk and looked out the window again,the sun had begins to shine more brighter, its light now covered the buildings.
I took a slow breath.
Maybe the painting wasn't strange at all,maybe it was simply unfinished and the "light" in the painting came from emotion, not mystery,
Maybe.
I finished work later than usual,the city lights flickered on by the time i returned home. I loosened my tie as I walked inside.
I went straight to the drawer again,
This time, I didn't hesitate,
I pulled the painting out and held it in my hands and walked to the window where the soft evening light fell across the room.
I studied the canvas again under the gentle glow.
Trying so hard to understand what my mother meant and the girl in the painting, was a mystery too.
But one thing felt clear,
This painting wasn't fading from my mind anytime soon.
It needed to be seen, and understood,it needed to be finished.
And i couldn't walk away from it.
Then i came up with an idea to start looking for help,someone who could understand this canvas better than I do,someone who could interpret its meaning.