Chapter 6 – [THE EXHIBITION OF TRUTH]

The Riverside State Art Exhibition was held in a massive, vaulted gallery downtown.

The room was packed with critics, local politicians, and wealthy patrons holding champagne flutes.

I stood in the corner, wearing a simple black dress, my stomach tied in knots.

Dad stood beside me, looking uncomfortable in his suit but fiercely protective. Andrew was there too, having apologized to me three times on the car ride over.

But my eyes were on the center of the room.

My five paintings were displayed prominently on a curved white wall.

Underneath each painting, a new brass plaque had been hastily installed that afternoon.

Title: The Weeping Willow

By Clara Vance & Emily Parker

People were whispering. Word had leaked to the local press about the scandal involving the prestigious Parker family. They knew Helen Parker was in jail, awaiting trial for fraud and kidnapping.

“They’re staring,” I whispered to Dad.

“Let them stare,” Dad said, putting a heavy, warm hand on my shoulder. “They’re staring because the work is magnificent.”

Suddenly, the crowd near the entrance parted.

Margaret walked in.

And walking beside her, looking fragile but undeniably beautiful in a tailored navy suit, was Clara Vance.

Sophie was holding her mother’s arm, beaming with a pride I had never seen on her face before.

The gallery director, a pretentious man named Sterling, rushed forward.

“Ms. Vance!” Sterling gasped, looking like he had seen a ghost. “We… we were told you passed away a decade ago.”

“Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated,” Clara said smoothly. She looked past him, her eyes landing on the five paintings.

She walked toward them, the crowd parting to let her through.

I held my breath as she stopped in front of the portrait of Grandma Ellen.

Clara reached out, her fingers hovering just inches from the canvas.

“You captured her kindness, Emily,” Clara said softly. “Helen never could capture Ellen’s kindness. She only painted what she could possess.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Sterling scurried over. “Ladies, the press is asking for a statement. The collaboration… the scandal… it’s the talk of the state.”

Clara turned to the gallery director.

“There is no scandal here tonight, Mr. Sterling. Only a celebration of two young women who refused to let their voices be silenced.”

Clara took Sophie’s hand in her left, and she reached out and took my hand in her right.

Flashbulbs erupted. The local photographers captured the moment forever.

A biological daughter who had learned to fight for her worth, a foster daughter who had found her stolen mother, and the brilliant artist who had survived the dark to see the light again.

I looked at Sophie. She squeezed my hand, her eyes shining with tears.

We didn’t have to compete for space anymore. The canvas was big enough for both of us.

TITLE: THE COTTAGE KEYS

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