The moment was surreal, as if I had stumbled into a dream woven by Joshua himself, a dream I never knew he had imagined for us. The colors of the paintings danced in the dim light seeping through the windows, whispering secrets of a past I was only beginning to understand. Each piece was a testament to my passion, intricately tied to his love for me—a love that had always been quietly profound.
As I stood there, my heart racing, the echo of the SUV slamming shut snapped me back to reality. The men approached with resolute strides, their presence heavy with intent. They were Joshua’s brothers—men I had met only a handful of times at obligatory family gatherings. Even then, they exuded a sense of severity and distance, as if they operated within a world of their own making, one that brooked no intrusion.
I straightened my back, steeling myself for whatever this visit entailed. The eldest, Richard, was the first to speak, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken history. “Catherine, we didn’t expect to see you here so soon,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. His words were polite, but his tone had an edge, a hint of something unsaid.
