A Painting at the Gallery Looked Exactly Like My Daughter – But When I Met the Artist, I Couldn’t Believe My Eyes

“No. You were making a scene.”

I stepped slightly in front of Nova. “She wasn’t. I asked about the painting.”

Elaine’s eyes shifted to me.

“Tanya, I’m sorry. This must be upsetting.”

“Don’t call my daughter’s face upsetting like it’s spilled wine.”

Tracy touched my elbow. “Tanya.”

“I’m fine,” I said, though I wasn’t. I pointed toward the gallery. “Why did you want that painting hidden behind a false title? Nova is talented. You should have told me my child was her subject.”

Elaine’s jaw tightened.

“Nova has been grieving in an unhealthy way. Her therapist encouraged art, not public drama.”