A few hours earlier…
After the acquisition of Carmela's painting, I had originally planned to leave the ship. There was no reason to stay. I had gotten what I came for. But something about that painting held me in place.
It stood before me, taller than I remembered, framed in dark oak that had aged with time and salt air. Carmela had painted herself sitting by a window, bathed in sunlight that danced across her face. Her eyes, those same storm filled brown eyes that once looked into mine seemed to follow me, alive with unspoken words. Every brushstroke was precise yet emotional, carrying the weight of her soul. The glimmer of light on her cheek looked real enough to touch; the faint curl of her lips hinted at both serenity and sorrow. It was more than art; it was a heartbeat trapped in canvas.
