Lucas' pov:

I wanted to say something, but I couldn't say a word.

My mom didn't comfort me and only continued to say coldly, "What's so great about this drawing? And your wooden carving? It's just a piece of broken wood. There's no value in it."

I couldn't believe what she said. The mother that lived in my memories would never say things like this.

All of a sudden, sadness welled up in my heart.

I carefully put my painting and wood carving into the box and rushed out of her room with it.

The more I thought about it, the more hurt I felt. I couldn't help but burst...