She used my narrative to escape my father, and I didn't mind. It's my dream. It was still an excellent narrative. Mom adored money. She needed it. I realized why she remained with my awful dad.

It went quickly. Those assisting me took photos from behind the cover.

When ready, I said, “Okay.” “Show everyone”

Sunlight finally shone on my work.

People snapped photos. The sculpture was big—the largest I'd ever made—and the plexiglass box gleamed, hiding the contents. When I came near, I could see what was within. I'd memorized it and saw it in my thoughts.

I was ecstatic. Luke moved like a predator or like water, thus...