Maria.
My hands trembled slightly as I stared at the portrait.
Because the person staring back at me from the painting…Was me.
For a moment, my brain refused to process what my eyes were seeing. I blinked once, then again, as if the image might suddenly change into someone else.
But it didn't.
It was still me.
Every detail was unmistakable, the curve of my face, the familiar shade of my hair, even the small mark near my collarbone that only someone who had carefully studied me would notice.
My heart began to pound.
Why would Daniel have a portrait of me?
And not just any portrait.
This one looked… intentional, carefully drawn and well preserved.
Not something done casually.
A strange uneasiness crept up my spine.
Slowly, my eyes shifted away from the portrait, scanning the area around the bed. That was when something else caught my attention.
Beside the bed, partly tucked between a small stack of papers, was a folded sheet that looked like some kind of sketch.
