It had taken him eighteen years, nine months and seventeen days.
But it was finally complete.
He put the paintbrush down and picked up his folding chair. Crossing the road to the park across from his house, he took a seat and looked.
After so long up close and personal with all of the outer walls of his house, he had resisted the urge to step back and absorb them as one. But now the story unfolded before him.
A mural of the life he had imagined his son would have gone on to live. A timeline of lost opportunities.
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