“I’m so proud of you,” he repeats. And I feel his words in the center of my heart. “Look around us. Look at all this beauty you add to the world. All the goodness you share.” He gently squeezes my hands. “I wasn’t lying when I told you that the world needed your art. But that wasn’t all of it. I need it, too. I need your joy. I need you to even out the bad things I do. Because with all of this?” He turns his head, taking in my paintings. “The world doesn’t feel quite so awful. So, yeah, Baby, I’m proud of you. And if no one has ever said that to you before, it’s not because you weren’t good
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