The gallery was packed.
Emma stood in the back watching people move through the space, looking at her paintings. Strangers. Collectors. Critics. People who'd read about the drama and came out of curiosity instead of genuine interest in her work.
She wore a black dress. Simple. Nothing that would distract from the paintings.
Tyler arrived early. He looked good. Healthier than he had in the hospital. He moved slowly, like his body was still recovering, but his eyes were clear.
"These are incredible," he said when he saw her paintings.
"Thanks," Emma replied.
They didn't hug. They didn't pretend things were normal between them. They just stood there acknowledging that something had shifted and they were both trying to navigate it.
"I'm sorry," Tyler said. "I know I've said it a thousan
