After I Threw Away My Sketchbook, I Became the Gallery Star Chapter 04

After I Threw Away My Sketchbook, I Became the Gallery Star Chapter 04

When Friday morning arrived, I skipped Catherine’s exhibition opening entirely.

I pulled on my crispest white button-down shirt, grabbed my bound graduation portfolio, and walked out the front door.

My oral defense started at ten a.m. At nine thirty, my advisor Mrs. Lopez called my cell phone.

“Rachel, your accumulated course credits fall short of the minimum requirement. University policy states a direct family member has to sign a waiver form before your defense begins to document your previous excused absences.”

My mind went blank.

I’d missed those weeks of lectures because Mom’d undergone minor outpatient surgery.

Dad had left town for a business trip, and Catherine claimed mandatory art tutoring after school, leaving me solely responsible for hospital care round-the-clock for two full weeks.

“I’ll call them right away to come sign.”

I hung up and stood alone in the empty campus hallway, dialing Mom’s number one final time—my last plea for help.

The phone rang endlessly before she picked up. A roar of gallery chatter and soft classical music blared through the line’s background noise.

“What’s so urgent? The opening reception starts in ten minutes, all the journalists are waiting for Cathy’s debut.” Mom’s voice crackled with impatience.

“I need you or Dad to drive over here right now to sign a university form for my defense—proof I missed class to care for you after surgery. They need the signature by ten sharp.”

“Now?”

“Yes. It’ll only take ten minutes to sign, then you can head straight back to the gallery. The campus is only five kilometers away.”

“Five kilometers plus parking time will eat up at least twenty minutes. It’ll derail Cathy’s entire opening schedule.” Mom analyzed the logistics coldly, calculating every cost. “The tradeoff isn’t worth it.”

“If neither of you comes, I can’t graduate this year.”

“Delay graduation for twelve months, then. A gap year to reflect on your craft might even benefit you.” She rejected my request without hesitation.

“I skipped all those classes to take care of you.”

“No one forced you to do it—it’s your natural duty as a daughter. Don’t guilt-trip me over basic familial obligation.”

Dad’s voice echoed loud from beside her. “Who’s calling?”

“Rachel. Demanding I rush over to her campus to sign paperwork.”

“Nonsense,” Dad’s tone carried clearly over the speaker. “Cathy’s due to give her artist talk any minute—we can’t leave now. Tell her to figure it out herself; she’s far too reliant on her parents for every tiny problem.”

I tightened my grip around my phone, listening to them tag-team against me.

“Is Rachel upset with me?” Catherine’s fragile voice piped up, soft and tearful. “If she really needs you, Mom, go ahead. I can handle all the reporters by myself, even if I’m scared.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, baby—I’m not leaving your side.” Mom’s tone melted into warm, gentle honey for Catherine, then turned icy once more as she addressed me through the phone.

“You hear that? Cathy needs me right now. You’re a legal adult—clean up your own messes.”

Click. The line went dead.

I stood at the far end of the school hallway. Brilliant sunlight flooded the windows outside, yet the corridor felt stifling, airless, suffocating.

I stared at the “Call Ended” text glowing on my screen. Every ounce of exhaustion weighing on my shoulders vanished in that instant.

The years-long, desperate urge to prove I deserved their love simply evaporated, leaving nothing behind but a hollow quiet.

Nothing remained inside me anymore.

I typed a quick message to Mrs. Lopez: [Professor, my family can’t make it to sign the form.]

[Then what will you do about your defense?]

[I’m withdrawing from today’s defense session.]

After hitting send, I turned away from the defense classroom without a single backward glance, walking straight out of the campus building.

I bought a one-way trian ticket back to my off-campus apartment. I wasn’t just packing up belongings—I planned to erase every trace of my old life here.

I left the bank card for my monthly allowance on the living room coffee table, my house keys resting neatly on top of it.

Last of all, I dropped that untouched sketchbook—the one with three painted star murals and a permanently blank first page—into a public trash bin outside the complex.

I rolled a small twenty-inch suitcase behind me to the front door.

There was no screaming breakdown, no dramatic farewell needed to walk away.

Years of quiet disappointment had stacked up, filling every empty crack in my heart until nothing was left to hold on to.

The front door latched shut behind me with a soft click. I never looked back.