room and froze.
A painting hung above the fireplace.
“Make yourself at home.”
The painting was a cottage beside a lake with two pine trees leaning toward the water.
A crooked wooden dock was also featured. And in the bottom right corner, almost hidden in the grass, were the initials “R.M.”
It was Robert’s painting! The one I thought had been destroyed!
I knew every brushstroke. I’d watched him paint it.
My hands started shaking.
It was Robert’s painting!
***
Arthur put the mugs down.
“Abigail, sit down.”
“No.”
My voice sounded sharper than intended.
“I need you to tell me where you got that.”
He looked at the painting.
“From Robert.”
I stared at him.
“Abigail, sit down.”
“What did you say?”
“Robert sent it to me.”
My first thought was that it was impossible. My second was worse.
“You knew my husband?”
Arthur nodded.
I felt the room
