“Nova, your artist talk starts in ten minutes.”
“We need a minute,” I said.
Outside the gallery, cold air finally let me breathe again.
Nova stood hugging herself beside the brick wall.
I looked at Patrick.
“Did you let Elaine pack away Lily’s things?”
His silence answered first.
Then quietly:
“Yes.”
My anger sharpened.
“You thought hiding her would help everyone move on?”
“I thought…” He stopped. “I thought it would hurt less.”
“No,” I said. “It just made it easier to avoid your guilt.”
Nova slowly pulled a folded paper from her pocket.
“I kept this.”
Elaine instantly went pale.
Nova handed it to me carefully.
Pink marker.
Crooked stars.
Childish handwriting.
Supernova, come to my birthday or I’ll be offended forever. Love, Lily.
My throat closed.
Lily’s last birthday party.
For illustrative purposes only
I remembered her sitting by the window in a paper crown, pretending she wasn’t disappointed.
“Maybe Nova got busy,” I’d told her.
Lily had shrugged too quickly.
“It’s okay.”
But it hadn’t been okay at all.
I looked at Elaine in disbelief.
“You hid this from her?”
Elaine’s voice thinned. “The girls were becoming too dependent on each other.”
“No,” Nova whispered. “You told me Lily didn’t actually want me there.”
Patrick slowly turned toward his wife.
“You told me Tanya changed the party date.”
Elaine suddenly looked trapped.
“The attachment between them wasn’t healthy,” she insisted. “Nova kept forgetting where she belonged.”
I moved closer to Nova.
“She belonged wherever she was loved.”
The gallery door opened behind us.
“Nova?” Andrea called gently. “It’s time.”
Elaine immediately said, “You don’t have to do this.”
Nova looked down at Lily’s invitation still trembling in my hands.
Then she lifted her chin.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I do.”
We walked back inside together.
The gallery quieted as Andrea introduced her.
Nova stood beside the painting.
Patrick remained frozen near the back wall.
Elaine stood rigid with anger.
Tracy squeezed my hand tightly.
Nova faced the audience.
“My painting is called Self-Portrait,” she began shakily. “Even though it doesn’t look like me.”
The room fell completely silent.
“Lily was my stepsister,” she continued. “She died three years ago.”
People listened.
Really listened.
“After she died, everyone kept telling me to go back to being myself. But Lily became part of who I was. She made me brave. She made me feel important.”
Elaine whispered sharply, “Nova, stop.”
Andrea stepped calmly in front of her.
“Let her speak.”
Nova wiped her face.
“Some people wanted me to stop saying Lily’s name because grief made them uncomfortable. But loving someone after they’re gone isn’t wrong. Losing Lily changed me forever. This painting is the part of me that will always belong to her.”
The room remained silent for one long heartbeat.
Then applause erupted.
Real applause.
Not polite.
Not hesitant.
People clapped because they understood.
Nova finally broke into tears.
I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around her.
“I’m sorry I missed her birthday,” she sobbed.
“You were just a child,” I whispered. “The adults should’ve done better.”
Behind us, Patrick’s voice cracked.
“I let Lily become smaller because I was too afraid to fight for her memory.”
I looked at him.
“Then fix what’s still fixable.”
That night, Andrea changed the plaque beneath the painting.
The Part of Me Named Lily
— Nova, 15
A week later, Patrick brought over several dusty storage boxes filled with Lily’s belongings.
Photos.
Bracelets.
Drawings.
Tiny memories I thought were gone forever.
Nova picked up one photograph and smiled through tears.
“She laughed right after this picture.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“I slipped in mud.”
I laughed softly. “That sounds like Lily.”
“She fell down too so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed.”
Yes.
That sounded exactly like my daughter.
The following Sunday, Nova and I visited Lily’s grave together.
“I’m scared I’ll forget her voice someday,” she admitted quietly.
I squeezed her hand.
“Then we’ll keep telling stories until neither of us can forget.”
She looked at me carefully.
“Can I tell you mine too?”
I nodded.
Because I had walked into that gallery believing someone had stolen my daughter’s face.
Instead, I found the person who had been carrying her memory alone all this time.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
