Ramon looked at Julianne’s acrylics and brushes smelled the turpentine, canvas was everywhere, everywhere
What intrigued him was the canvas on the easel closest to the window, it was a self-portrait, Jules never let him
see her work until finished and sometimes not then. The one on the easel, that one she
would have let him see, he wished only that she could have finished it.

Six months ago  finding her there on the floor, the wrench in his gut just as hard today as then.
He had picked her up off the floor and even bald she was still his beautiful Jules, she weighed nothing, less than
a hundred pounds he could feel the sharpness of her bones projecting into him.
She had refused any further treatments after the first three months said she wanted to finish life clear-headed and not vomiting. She had done that but oh she suffered and loving her as he did it hurt him too. The radical mastectomy hurt her as a woman , not like the pain at the end due to the cancer and her refusal of morphine or any pain medication but emotionally, she knew he loved her no matter the scars but she still felt inadequate. Her last gift to him the self-portrait  an image of her as a complete woman.