Part 2: As she lay bleeding on the floor with her artwork scattered in pieces, her sister leaned over and whispered, "Tell them she slipped."

The arrest took place in front of sixty people, four art critics, and three local news cameras that had arrived to cover the emerging artists showcase.

Natalie was led out of the gallery in steel handcuffs, her sweatpants dragging on the sidewalk, her sobbing loud enough to carry across High Street.

My mother tried to follow the patrol car, screaming at the officers, until Detective Miller turned around and warned her that if she continued to obstruct justice, she would be booked alongside her daughter for accessory to assault.

My father sat on the curb outside the gallery, his head in his hands, his Brooks Brothers shirt stained with sweat.

Inside the gallery, the event continued.

Mr. Vance officially signed my $5,000 summer residency contract on Wall 4, right beside my prints. Two local collectors purchased three of my original charcoal sketches for $1,200 cash on the spot.

By 10:00 PM, I was sitting in the quiet kitchen of Micah’s house next door to my parents' property.

Sarah Reed had prepared a hot bowl of soup for me, while Micah sat across the table, cleaning the glass dust off my black garment bag with a soft cloth.

My phone chimed on the table.

A text from my father:

Dad: Ella, please. The bail is set at twenty-five thousand dollars. We don't have that kind of liquid cash after paying the emergency legal retainer. Can you please talk to the prosecutor? She's your sister.

I looked at the message for three seconds.

Then I pulled up my settings, tapped Block Contact, and blocked my father’s number.

Then I blocked my mother’s number.

Then I blocked Natalie’s.

I set the phone face down on the placemat.

"You okay?" Micah asked softly, setting down his cloth and looking at me.

I looked down at my bandaged arm. It throbbed slightly under the gauze, but the sharp, terrifying pain from this morning was gone.