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The gallery held more than paintings. Each piece reflected something lived through, not imagined. When Arjun guided him to a canvas titled Mother and revealed it, Rajesh felt the weight of what he had avoided. Meera was depicted in her final moments, fragile yet holding onto a memory that Rajesh had chosen to let go of. Then came the truth, spoken without force. Meera had not deceived him in the way he believed. Her silence had come from fear, not betrayal. Arjun was not another man’s child. He was his. What Rajesh had rejected was not uncertainty—it was his own inability to stand steady in grief. The realization did not arrive gently. It settled with clarity.
