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The light scent of oil paint filled the small apartment while my brush made careful strokes against the rough canvas surface, moving with as much precision as I could muster.

It was a new project, and one that came with a lot more pressure than I would typically want.

But with the sun going down, I worked beneath those old studio lights into the night like I normally did, following my light linework.

As much as I tried to create things for the personal fulfilment and catharsis of it all, I couldn’t just wait around for the inspiration to strike, and I couldn’t just hope for everything to work out. I needed it to work, and I needed this painting to somehow bridge the gap between me and the success I was after.

That underlying need felt heavy, but if I was going to make it on my own, then I needed to be determined, no matter what it might cost me.

I didn’t need to be in that tiny New York apartment, painting desperately while searching for prospective buyers. I didn’t have to struggle and do everything I could to pave my own path.

Not when I came from a place of privilege.

My dad had money—more than he knew what to do with, at times.

He had more than his fair share of successful businesses in the city and beyond, and he had been more than willing to pay my way through just about everything.

But even with that being true, and me being aware of the rarity of that situation, it didn’t feel right to me. It was too easy. Too artificial and inauthentic. As tempting as that would be to anyone, I wasn’t interested in my dad being the reason for my success.

I wanted to make it myself and to feel proud of what I managed to achieve on my own.

In the eyes of many, being an independent, full-time artist was so far out of reach that most didn’t bother to try. But for me, there was nothing I loved more than creating. Bringing ideas to life and capturing them in a permanent, tangible way. And even if it meant struggling here and there, it would all be worth it to keep doing exactly that for the rest of my life.

From a young age, I knew what it was like to float on that money and to be nothing but comfortable. Yet, by going off on my own, I needed to find out what it was like to exist on the opposite side of the scale. It was hard, and oftentimes terrifying, but still necessary.

I needed to understand what it felt like to work hard for something, and to dream of something more than just sitting around idly in my parents’ home. The discomfort was a propellant, and it lit a fire under my feet that I wouldn’t trade for that luxury.

In a way, every new piece came with unspoken hope…longing to somehow launch my career and push me to new heights all on my own. That way, nobody could say I only achieved it due to my father’s success.

While it sounded like a simple idea, it meant everything to me.

The struggle, the pain, and the fear…it all occupied my mind frequently, yet it served as a reminder of what I was working towards, and what I stood to lose if I gave up.

I found a sort of stride in painting at night while I spent the day at a coffee shop part-time. It wasn’t all that exciting and was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was necessary to keep the lights on.

But even while actively pursuing the very thing I wanted to do more than anything, even with my ambition and confidence in my abilities, it still didn’t stop the doubt from creeping in.

I didn’t want to let it get the better of me, yet I was still afraid it wouldn’t be enough.

Try as I might, I wasn’t sure if I could keep it up forever. I didn’t want to just be chasing some pipe dream…I wanted to make something of myself and be able to say I did it all on my own, even if it came with the fear of never actually succeeding as I always envisioned.

Even while I focused on the painting in front of me and every stroke of the paintbrush, I still couldn’t completely block out those thoughts, and it left a heavy feeling in my gut.

I was fully aware that if I needed help, my dad would have no issue providing it. In fact, I had every reason to believe that something in him wanted me to come back home. To follow whatever ideal life he had in his head for me.

I knew I was lucky for that reason, but my pride still wouldn’t let me follow through with it…not yet, anyway.

No part of me wanted to ride the coattails of his success forever, even if it meant being uncomfortable. He had his legacy, and I wanted to build my own, even if it had to do with art rather than business.

After standing to adjust one of my overhead lights, the buzz of my phone on the coffee table beside me shook those thoughts away, and when the vibrations lingered, I reached for it.

Glancing at the screen, the caller wasn’t all that surprising.

I swore he had a sixth sense when it came to knowing he was on my mind…

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“I thought I’d just check up on you,” he said evenly, “and see how my daughter is doing. Are you painting again?”

“I am…like usual.”

“Good. Although I wonder how much rest you’re getting. Your schedule sounds quite busy. Are you sleeping enough?”

I sighed inwardly to myself and sat down on the lumpy couch. “I’m fine…it’s just a part-time job while I paint. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I see. Well, I can only assume you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

It was very like him to indirectly express his concern…almost like he couldn’t fully break away from his usual businessman tendencies. He checked in with me more often than I ever thought he would, always maintaining his pragmatic ways.

Of course, I wasn’t going to complain about having a parent who worried about me, but it didn’t always happen at the best time, and it often came across as him waiting for me to slip up in some way. Like he was anticipating the moment he could swoop in and prove that I needed him.

I didn’t mind his concern, but I also wanted him to have faith in me. To trust that I could manage just fine on my own.

“You know, I met with someone the other day who I think you might be interested in; he’s got money and security—you wouldn’t need to work so hard if you went for someone like him,” Dad began with an almost knowing lilt to his voice. “He might be a bit rough around the edges, but I’m sure it would be advantageous all around—”

“Dad, is this really why you called me?”

After a moment, he huffed out a breath that sounded faintly amused before admitting, “No, no…I actually wanted to ask you about something.”

Pulling in a breath, I had the feeling the phone call was about to be much longer than I had hoped. “Okay…what is it?”

“There’s a charity gala coming up this Friday night, and I’d like you to come with me,” he said, finally getting to the real point of the phone call. “Just like old times.”

A charity gala…that wasn’t exactly outside of the norm for him, given how prominent he had always been in the community and how he often liked to give back however he could. With his wealth, it was no surprise that he would be invited to more prestigious events held in the city.

But it had been a long time since I last went with him. I had only been a teenager when he last took me with him, since he wanted me to experience it for myself. It was as grand and over the top as anyone would expect, and while it was nice, it wasn’t exactly my scene.

“Why isn’t Mom going with you?”

There was a momentary silence between us before he sighed, giving away how it had obviously been a touchy subject. Or, at the very least, a cause for some sort of disagreement. “You know your mother…she claims to be tired of them, and she has already made other plans.”

As much as part of me wished she would go instead of me, I absolutely believed that.

I wasn’t necessarily the closest with my dad, given how pushy he could be, but what I had with my mom was even worse; it was almost laughable to call it any kind of relationship.

Since the day I could pick up on it, my mom had been cold and detached, almost like she never had the desire to be anyone’s mother in the first place.

Regardless of how I used to try and connect with her in some way, she never seemed interested. She did what she needed to do as a mom when I was young, but the older I became, the less involved she was.

Eventually, we were more like individuals living under the same roof—nothing beyond that.

I wanted to decline the offer and move on from the topic, but knowing how she could be, that felt impossible; picturing my dad at the event alone made me feel guiltier than I cared to admit.

I sighed and ran a hand down my face. “Okay, fine…I’ll go with you. But I don’t have anything fancy left to wear.”

The elation in his voice was both immediate and somewhat surprising as he returned, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have something arranged.”

Nodding to myself, I was well aware of what I was agreeing to and how it would take away from my allotted painting time. As annoying as that was, I couldn’t miss just how relieved he sounded to hear my acceptance.

“Friday night, then. You know where to find me.”

“That I do,” he returned, allowing his satisfied smile to translate through his words. “And thank you, my dear. I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful night out.”

Even if we weren’t the closest father and daughter pair, I couldn’t ignore the faint warmth in my chest from his gratitude. He sounded so sincere…almost like I made his entire week. In a way, I could only assume I had.

With him looking forward to the upcoming gala, we said our goodbyes for the night, and I found myself alone in the quiet apartment once more, with the silence cut only by traffic outside and the subdued nighttime bustle.

Letting out a breath, I leaned back on the couch and tried to wrestle with the fact that I agreed to go to a gala I had no business attending—not when it was part of the world I wanted to escape from the very moment I could.

But it was obvious Dad wanted someone with him, and it was at least somewhat touching to know he’d rather have me there than go alone. In a way, it seemed like he was trying to be closer to me, and as almost strange as it felt, I didn’t think I was in a position to complain.

I had a few days left to mentally prepare, and I could only hope the event wouldn’t be as dull as I remembered, despite the glamor.