"Who needs your forgiveness? I just... love Mom too much."
So much so that I couldn't bear to give her things away.
After a while, I noticed a host of health issues. I'd be unable to sleep due to the pain and would vomit for no apparent reason. My hair was falling out in clumps and large bruises appeared all over my body. I thought it was the aftereffects of childhood beatings and didn't take it seriously.
Until one day, while out sketching, I fainted on the side of the road. After being taken to the hospital by a passerby, I learned that I had cancer.
The doctor took one look at my collar, which had been washed white and sighed softly, "Stomach cancer, late stage. If you have money, you can try conservative treatment. If not... treatment isn't very meaningful."
By then, Sheryl had already achieved some success. She had plenty of money, enough to keep me alive. But after much hesitation, I finally deleted her number instead.
In the studio, I painted this final painting. I didn't want to bow to her, didn't want to admit defeat. I've become accustomed to loneliness my whole life. No family, no friends.
I came naked, I leave naked. Not causing trouble for anyone, that's all that matters.