Chapter 17: The Portrait
"Keep your eyes closed, no peeking!" Lily commanded, holding onto Arthur’s hand and guiding him into the living room.
It was Father’s Day, and the house smelled of roasted garlic and fresh bread from the kitchen where Eleanor was cooking dinner. Arthur chuckled, keeping his eyes firmly shut as he let his eight-year-old daughter lead him.
"Okay, open them!" Lily cheered.
Arthur opened his eyes. Resting on the mantle above the fireplace was a large, beautifully framed oil painting. He stepped closer, completely mesmerized.
It was a family portrait, but not a stiff, formal one. It depicted the four of them in the backyard. Eleanor was laughing, Lily was tossing a ball, and Arthur was kneeling on the grass. Standing front and center, looking majestic and deeply happy, was Finn.
"I had a local artist paint it from a photograph I took last month," Eleanor said, walking into the room and wrapping her arms around Arthur’s waist. "Do you like it?"
May you like
Arthur reached up and traced the frame. He looked at the painted version of himself—the relaxed posture, the genuine smile. It was a man he hadn't recognized a year ago.
"I love it," Arthur whispered, pulling Eleanor closer. "It's perfectly us."
