“I made a mistake, Maya,” I said. The words felt heavy and clumsy in my mouth. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought the world would ruin you if you didn’t have a regular job. I was terrified you’d end up like my father.”

She looked at me for a long moment. She didn’t look angry. She just looked detached, like she was studying a stranger.

“You weren’t protecting me, Dad,” she said. “You were just afraid of anything you couldn’t control. You wanted me to have a small life because a small life is easy to understand.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. The tears were running down my cheeks now, hot and embarrassing. “I am so sorry. I want to make this right. I want you to come home for Sunday dinner. We can start over.”

Maya looked down at her hands. Her fingers were stained with dark blue ink near the cuticles.

“I can’t do that,” she said. “I don’t hate you, Dad. I really don’t. But the anger I had at you is what got me through those first four years in Chicago. I painted every single one of those canvases because I wanted to prove you wrong.”

She looked up at me, and her eyes were completely clear.

“Now that they’re sold, I don’t feel that anger anymore,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean we have a relationship. I don’t know you. You don’t know anything about my life.”

“We can learn,” I pleaded.

“No,” she said softly. “I think it’s better this way. You got what you wanted. You wanted me to be safe, and I am safe. I don’t need anything from you.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small piece of paper. It was a check.

“This is for the Lansing Community College tuition you paid,” she said, holding it out to me. “It was eighteen hundred dollars. I want to make sure we are completely even.”

I stared at the check. The paper felt cold between my fingers.

“I don’t want your money, Maya,” I whispered.

“I know,” she said. “But I need you to take it anyway.”

I took the check. I didn’t know what else to do.

I walked out of the gallery and back into the cold Chicago afternoon. The wind was whipping off the lake, turning my face red. I got into my old Chevy and drove back to Lansing in silence.

When I got home, Sarah was still in the kitchen. She didn’t ask me how it went. She didn’t have to. She took one look at my face and went back to washing the dinner dishes.

I went into the living room and sat in my recliner. I took the check out of my pocket and laid it on the end table, right next to the brass lamp.