I gazed toward the main wall by habit and slid to a halt. A dismayed choke escaped past my bloodless lips. My photo, the one I had taken of the Orazio’s estate in Italy, was missing. It had been a drone shot I’d taken on our first trip overseas together. Capturing some of the manicured landscape and the sharp cliff, the ocean spanning the horizon. In its place was a colorful abstract. I pressed my hand to my stomach, sure there was a slash across the tender flesh. The picture had been a gift from me for when she’d designed this space. Its absence said more than any words could. Adelaide was a
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