The photo lay between them like a fragile bridge, one Maya wasn't sure she was ready to cross.
Elijah traced the edge of the image with a single finger, careful not to touch the torn part. "Is this your father?"
Maya nodded slowly. "What's left of him."
She couldn't meet his eyes, afraid of what he'd see if he looked too closely—guilt, rage, fear. The child in the red coat had buried more than memories that day. She had buried herself.
"I always wondered," she whispered, "if I had just said something sooner… done something different…"
"Maya," Elijah said firmly, "whatever happened, you were a child. The weight you carry isn't yours to bear."
She finally looked up. "Then why does it still feel like it is?"
Elijah hesitated before answering. "Because no one ever told you it was okay to let it go."
Silence settled between them, not heavy this time, but open—like a pause before a first breath.
"You're stronger than you know," he added. "But you don't have to be invincible."
Maya let those words sink in. The museum's walls, once echoing with ghosts, now felt… quieter. She rose, walking to the large window where rain tapped gently against the glass.
"I want to finish it," she said.
"The painting?"
"No," she turned to him, eyes glowing with something fierce and fragile. "The story. My story. I think it's time."
Elijah smiled—soft, encouraging. "Then let's start where it matters most."
She nodded. Outside, the storm broke into soft drizzle. Inside, Maya stood straighter. No longer just the girl in the red coat. She was ready to become the woman who rewrote her ending.
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