The Donna Who Vanished from the Portrait Chapter 07

The Donna Who Vanished from the Portrait Chapter 07

Earlier that day, before I disappeared, Adrian had stepped out to pick up dinner.

When he came back, the hospital bed stood neatly made and empty.

The nurse handed him a newly completed admission form. Under emergency contact, there was only one

word: None.

He stood beside the empty bed, still clutching a thermal bag of soup.

Condensation beaded on the plastic, dripping down in cold droplets.

Instead of returning to the workshop, I climbed straight onto one of the old master’s vehicles heading out for

a plein-air excursion in the neighboring county.

Two weeks later, the old master’s retirement art exhibition opened.

The Moretti family was the primary sponsor for the event.

The entryway had originally featured a traditional guest sign-in wall, but on the eve of opening night, it was

replaced by a two-subject portrait. Adrian stood beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder.

Beneath the painting, the inscription read: Don Moretti and his Wife.

Media swarmed to cover the piece.

The Moretti public-relations team released a press release stating that the earlier family portrait had only honored a long-lost adopted daughter, and the Donna’s position had never been in doubt.

Adrian cut through the crowd and offered me a bouquet of white magnolias. “Are you satisfied now?”

“Who told you to hang that thing?”

“I delivered what you wanted.” He leaned in, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear as he passed me

the flowers. The gesture looked intimate, yet his tone carried the quiet condescension of a debt repaid.

“I’ve given you the public recognition you craved. Elena and Sophie have moved out of the main estate house. I’ve cleared the path for you. Mind your footing.”

I set the bouquet down on a display shelf. “Take it down.”

Adrian’s expression darkened. “I’ve gone this far. What more do you want?”

“I never asked for this painting.”

“Then why did you leave?”

“I no longer wish to be Mrs. Moretti.”

He seized my wrist and drew me close. Cameras instantly locked onto us.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean in front of the press. Are you willing to watch the Moretti name become the

laughingstock of the whole city tomorrow?” He glanced toward the surrounding cameras, then back at me.

A bright young voice suddenly rang out from the entrance. “Daddy!”

Elena was listed on the guest roster as a representative of the Moretti Foundation. She hadn’t planned to

bring Sophie, but the girl had spotted Adrian on the live stream and refused to be calmed until they brought

her.

Sophie wove through the crowd and threw herself against Adrian’s legs.

Silence descended upon the exhibition hall.

His face paled. He pulled the child gently away. “Who told you to call me that?”

Frightened, Sophie’s tears streamed down her cheeks. “You promised me at home. You said once Aunt Margaret stopped being so difficult, we could be a real family forever.”

Elena hurried forward and snatched her daughter into her arms. “She’s simply gotten used to calling you

that. You never corrected her back at the house. Why scold her for it now?”

Adrian turned toward me. “You would pick a fight over a title with a small child?”

“What am I supposed to call you, when she calls you Daddy?”

He had no answer.

“You are my wife.”

“Where is my husband, when you stand beside them?”

“Elena has no husband, Sophie has no father. Is it so wrong for me to look after them?” Frustration flickered across Adrian’s face. “You have everything. Must you take away the only support they have?”

“What exactly do I have?”

He froze.

I nodded toward the portrait hanging by the entry. “A husband who only remembers I am Mrs. Moretti after

I’ve already walked away?”

Flashes erupted in rapid succession.

Adrian reached to pull me back toward him.

The flashbulbs made Sophie flinch. On instinct, she grabbed the hem of his suit coat.

One hand stretched toward me, while his other cupped the back of the little girl’s head.

Photographers kept directing us. “Mrs. Moretti, move a little closer. Look at the camera, honey!”

I stepped backward. Adrian’s fingertips brushed my sleeve, but they touched nothing.

Sophie crumpled against his leg, sobbing. He bent and scooped her up before he even realized he’d moved.

In that exact instant, the flash went off.

On a nearby monitor displaying the live feed, he held Sophie, Elena standing close by his side. Only a small

sliver of my dress remained visible in frame.

One reporter glanced over the screen and murmured, “She’s been cut out of the frame again.”