Chapter 8

After the spring began, my solo exhibition, Breaking the Cocoon, opened at Lucas's gallery. Warm Sun was hung in the most prominent spot. The placard read: "For all those who still believe in light, even in the darkness." Liam sent a huge flower basket. The card held only two words: "Congratulations." Mrs. Smith, in her wheelchair, pushed by Lucas, looked at the paintings. She paused for a long time before Bellflower. "The two children in this painting... it's you and Lucas, isn't it?" On the canvas, ten-year-old me crouched among the flowers, while eight-year-old Lucas leaned over the fence, his eyelashes dusted with dandelion fluff, exactly like in that old photo he treasured. "Lawson Group's stock price has recovered," Professor Alexander Thorne said, walking over with a champagne glass and nudging my arm with a smile. I looked out through the gallery's floor-to-ceiling windows at the magnolia tree. Lucas was signing autographs for a line of visitors, his profile in the spring light