Our eyes met, and a wave of emotions crashed over me — guilt, regret, shame. The weight of those ten years bore down on me. He approached me with grace, a small smile playing on his lips, an artist’s calm.

“Hello,” he said, his voice steady and warm. “I’m glad you came.”

I struggled to find words. “I… I didn’t know,” I stammered. “I didn’t know what happened to you.”

He nodded, understanding rather than accusing. “I wanted you to see this,” he said, guiding me to a painting — a portrait of a woman, painted with striking emotion. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized her, my late wife, his mother.