By the third heist, I was moving like a professional. My mother went out to check the mail — and thank the ancestors she moves slow and uses a walker, because that gave me just enough time to execute the mission. The moment the door clicked behind her, I went straight for the wall. I had this baby off the hook, wrapped, and halfway to safety before her key even turned in the mailbox. Precision. Timing. Skill. I was in my prime.

But here’s the twist: I’ve always loved this one. Always wanted to share it, archive it, bring it into the Senyas vault…
but the problem is, so does she. She once told me this was an image of one of her ancestors — someone from beyond who visited her from time to time. So of course she kept this one close. Of course it mattered to her. Which made stealing it feel like a spiritual trespass…but honestly? The mission had to go on. This painting carries a presence — deep, ancestral, unmistakably alive. The face is strong, the expression timeless, the eyes full of that old-world knowing my mother paints without even trying. The lines are bold but tender, the colors warm but powerful. You can see why she claimed this figure visited her; there’s something ancient in the gaze, something familiar and protective.
It’s not just a portrait — it’s a witness.