Upper Norwood Undone

The portrait had survived the fire; barely. Marcus's mother looked out from damaged canvas—smoke-stained, water-warped, nearly lost.

Efe took one look and nodded.

"I can save her. But it takes time. And trust."

She was Nigerian-British, thick curves in a paint-stained smock, with hands that could bring the past back to life. Her Upper Norwood studio was a sanctuary for damaged beauty.

"How long?"

"Months. But I'd like you to be part of the process. Understanding what we save helps us heal."

He came every week, watching her work—careful cleaning, patient reconstruction, art reborn under her hands. The portrait slowly emerged from damage, his mother's face returning.

"You're crying," Efe observed one session.

"I didn't expect... she looks like her again."

"That's what restoration does." She set down her brush. "Not just for paintings. For people too."

She held him while he wept, her thick body warm and accepting.

"I shouldn't," he said when the tears stopped. "I'm a mess."

"Messes can be restored." She kissed him gently. "Let me show you."

Her smock came off in the studio, surrounded by rescued art. Her body was soft and beautiful—thick curves that spoke of comfort, of acceptance.

"Let me restore you."

They made love slowly, carefully—the way she worked on paintings. Her thick body surrounded him with the patience she brought to everything.

"Feel where you're damaged. Let me repair it."

She touched places inside him that had nothing to do with the physical. When they finished, something had shifted.

"The portrait's almost done," she said afterward. "But you... you need more work."

"More restoration?"

"More attention. More care." She pulled him close. "Some damage takes years to repair. I'm willing to put in the time."

"Why?"

"Because everyone deserves to be saved." She kissed him softly. "Even people who think they're beyond saving."

His Upper Norwood undoing had rebuilt something broken. And Marcus had found someone willing to do the patient work of love.