Five years later, the launch event for Serena's autobiographical art collection was held at the pinnacle of the art world.
Flashbulbs blazed like daylight, making her understated white dress glow even more stunningly.
Standing on the stage, she was calm and elegant, with not a trace of the awkward, flustered mess she'd been all those years ago.
A reporter asked, "Ms. Wilson, you described that painful past in your new book. Have you ever hated the person who hurt you?"
The entire venue fell silent instantly, and every camera lens turned toward her.
Serena held the microphone, her fingertips brushing lightly over the cold metal surface.
She thought of that pair of hands, bleached pale and wrinkled from long-term exposure to disinfectant; she thought of the cold operating lamp in the h
