Too Late For Sorry

broke on

eamed through the large warehouse window, illuminating the dust motes dancing around her latest canvas

her. A notification from a major art blog. S

ine hit h

: A Thief in the

acclaimed piece, "Urban Echo," side-by-side with a series of paintings by a relatively unknown European a

ection was alr

ra

was too good

cel

ver seen those other paintings in her life. "Urban Echo" came from a place dee

stinct was t

this. He would write a scathing rebuttal, use his immense influence to shut thi

rang once, twice, three ti

ease, call me back as soon as you get this. It's abo

logs picked up the story. Her social media was flooded with hate. Her world

s key in the door of

, phone held out like a we

oosened his tie, his movement

. "You have to tell them it's not true.

xpression unreadable. "Maybe you should j

ing destroyed. My name is being dragged through the mud. You're

f she were a burden he was tired of carryin

in the quiet apartment. "Why aren't you de

mself a glass of whiskey. He took a long swallow be

oes tha

hand. "It means I was the

The air left her lu

as the one who saw the original paintings. A stupid, youthful mistake. It

e girl he had been spending more and more time with. The girl

ispered. "You did

his would have been a minor setb

re calling me a fraud, Ethan! They're destroying everyth

c," he said, the wor

life is falling apart because of a lie you told, and you

e said, his jaw tight. "I'm

of a small table. A bottle of pills clattered to the floor, its contents

ing in disgust. "You see? This is what I'm talking about.

sturing wildly at the pills. "I have depression, E

he scoffed. "Falling apart, making a sce

arted in her core and radiated out to her fingertips. She wrapped h

aw whisper. "Tell me this is a nigh

cold. He didn't see her pain.

h a decisive click. "I'm staying at a hotel for a

round the scattered pills as if they w

ords to make him stay, to make him understa

. The door closed,

was