Chap­ter 177 begins with Patch lin­ger­ing out­side a red-brick gallery on Woost­er Street, where a large crowd has gath­ered for an exhi­bi­tion show­cas­ing his art­work. The set­ting puls­es with ener­gy as vis­i­tors min­gle under warm evening lights, sip­ping drinks and dis­cussing the bold visu­als inside. Though Patch is the artist behind the show, he feels like an out­sider among the well-dressed attendees—many of whom he doesn’t rec­og­nize but who seem to know his name. With­in the gallery walls, Char­lotte and Sam­my have arranged ear­ly sketch­es he nev­er intend­ed to share pub­licly. These pieces, once raw exper­i­ments, are now exhib­it­ed with care and inten­tion, each one named after a miss­ing girl. Instead of offer­ing full biogra­phies, the cura­tors pro­vide a sin­gle note beneath each frame—a small truth or haunt­ing clue about a girl’s life, turn­ing the art into silent trib­utes. These frag­ments of iden­ti­ty serve as emo­tion­al land­marks, guid­ing view­ers through an unspo­ken sto­ry of loss and remem­brance.

The emo­tion­al weight of the gallery inten­si­fies when a woman from Sacra­men­to pur­chas­es one of Patch’s more des­per­ate pieces—something he’d drawn dur­ing a long, sleep­less night. When she tells him the image holds pain and beau­ty in equal mea­sure, Patch nods but inter­nal­ly resists the idea that art can redeem the trau­ma it reflects. He walks away qui­et­ly, uneasy with the idea that suf­fer­ing can be admired when framed and hung in a room. Out­side, he catch­es a glimpse of Saint, his daugh­ter, dressed in a soft pink gown that echoes the mem­o­ry of her late moth­er, Misty. The resem­blance is so strik­ing it freezes Patch in place, over­whelm­ing him with sor­row and grat­i­tude in equal parts. Time seems to col­lapse as the present merges with his past, and for a fleet­ing moment, he’s back in a life he can’t return to. That col­li­sion of then and now makes him real­ize how much still remains unre­solved.

Saint joins him with a warm smile, sens­ing his emo­tion­al retreat before he can explain it. She gen­tly teas­es him about avoid­ing the crowd, guess­ing that he’s uncom­fort­able play­ing the role of the cel­e­brat­ed artist. Their exchange moves quick­ly from casu­al humor to deep­er intro­spec­tion, reveal­ing how much Patch strug­gles with the expec­ta­tions placed upon him. He admits to feel­ing like he’s fak­ing his way through life, wear­ing a mask even in front of those he loves. Saint lis­tens patient­ly, her pres­ence ground­ing him in the moment. When he talks about dreams of escape—of find­ing peace by the sea or dis­ap­pear­ing onto a boat—she doesn’t laugh but nods with qui­et under­stand­ing. Her abil­i­ty to hold space for his sad­ness reflects her matu­ri­ty and empa­thy, traits that mir­ror Misty’s qui­et strength.

The focus shifts when Patch brings up “Grace Num­ber One,” a paint­ing he refus­es to sell despite mul­ti­ple offers. He describes it not as a mas­ter­piece, but as a teth­er to some­thing real—something sacred. To part with it would feel like aban­don­ing Grace, a fig­ure deeply woven into his emo­tion­al past. Saint doesn’t press him to explain fur­ther but sim­ply places a reas­sur­ing hand on his arm. The silence that fol­lows feels more pow­er­ful than words, a mutu­al recog­ni­tion of grief shared and endured. Patch then asks if she still plays piano, to which she responds with a soft smile and a “yes.” The sim­plic­i­ty of that affir­ma­tion car­ries hope, a sign that con­ti­nu­ity still exists even when so much has been lost.

The chap­ter ends with an embrace between father and daugh­ter, the kind that speaks of sur­vival and shared his­to­ry rather than per­fec­tion. Around them, the city buzzes with its usu­al rhythm, but for a few pre­cious moments, time slows. Patch may not have all the answers, but in Saint’s arms, he feels a flick­er of meaning—a rea­son to keep going, to keep cre­at­ing, and to keep believ­ing that love, even when frac­tured, can still heal in unex­pect­ed ways. Through these final qui­et moments, the sto­ry reaf­firms that while pain may leave its mark, con­nec­tion remains one of the few things strong enough to car­ry us for­ward.