As I lifted the knife to cut the wedding cake, my sister hugged me tightly and whispered, “Push it over. Now.” I glanced at her, then at my smiling groom.
The gallery opening in SoHo was crowded, loud, and pretentious—exactly the kind of place I, Maya, usually avoided. I was a struggling artist, specializing in abstract oil paintings that critics called “promising” but buyers called “confusing.”…









