I swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
Lora smiled, gesturing around the room. “This is a start.”
“Dad knew exactly what he was doing,” Michael said, shaking his head with a sad smile.
“Even at the end, he was still bringing us together.”
I exhaled shakily. And for the first time in years, I let my stepmother hug me.
“He loved you so much,” she whispered against my hair. “We all do.”
The next day, I sat in my art studio, a white canvas in front of me.
Sunlight streamed through the skylight, warming my skin.
For the first time since my father’s death, I didn’t feel lost.
On my phone was a group text from Lora and the kids, planning a weekly family dinner. Sarah had already asked if I could teach her to paint. Michael wanted to help install some new shelving.
I picked up my father’s last letter, reading it one more time.
His words felt different now… less like a goodbye and more like a beginning.
I dipped my brush into the paint, feeling warmth spread through my chest. The canvas before me was white, untouched, and full of possibilities… just like the future I never thought I’d have with my step-family.
My father’s words echoed in my mind as my gaze landed on his photo.
“Live, my girl. Create.
Love.”
“I will, Dad. I promise,” I whispered.
I smiled, touching the canvas gently. “I know what I’m going to paint first, Dad.
Our whole family… together. The way you always saw us, even when we couldn’t see it ourselves.”
And with that, I began to paint, knowing that somewhere, somehow, he was smiling.
Sometimes the greatest gifts come wrapped in the most unexpected packages. My father’s last gift wasn’t just this studio… it was the family I had all along, waiting behind walls we’d all built.
Now those walls were coming down, one brush stroke at a time.
And that, perhaps, was the masterpiece he’d intended all along.
Source: amomama
