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

“Did Nova use a photo?” I asked.

“I can’t answer that,” Andrea said. “The students submit their own artist statements.”

“Then she can explain it herself.”

We stopped outside a small room where a teenage girl stood near a table of name tags, picking dried paint from her sleeve.

Andrea softened her voice.

“Nova?”

The girl turned.

For a second, grief blurred her.

Then I saw the dark curls, the careful posture, the anxious eyes.

Nova.

Patrick’s stepdaughter.

Lily’s “Supernova.”

She was taller now. Older. Nothing about her face looked like Lily’s.

But the painting did.

Every inch of it did.

Nova saw me and went pale.

“You’re Lily’s mom.”

“And you’re Nova,” I said. “Lily told me a lot of stories.”