(For Problem)
It was better than you expected. Which... which you hated to admit. Not because you hated being wrong, (though your wife would argue otherwise,) but because you had expected anything less from him. That this whole time, you had done nothing but discourage him, every step of the way. You never saw any of it beyond the initial sketch, but in retrospect that was probably on purpose. You didn't want it to be good, deep down, you had wanted this endeavor to fail, and that... disgusted you. Why did you want so badly for your own son's downfall? Just to be right? You swore it was more than that at the time. Just yesterday, even, you sat him down for a talk about better professions to pursue. It could be considered condescending, sure, but you had his best interest at heart, didn't you? And sure, it devolved into a screaming match but...you swore it would be what was best for him in the long run.
But it wasn't. It never was. And this art, a portrait of your wife, was just as stunning as she was, even in his style...no, especially in his style. Dedicated to the only person that actually believed in his art.
Your wife took your hand and gave it a squeeze. You were immensely grateful she had put up with you these past few weeks.
"So, what do you think? I had to pose quite a few ways for him to get the face right, but I think he captured me well." she asked, imitating the pose the portrait was of.
"It's beautiful." you reply, without skipping a beat.
Her voice softens significantly. "...You know he really wanted you to like it. He didn't say it, but...I think it's important that you let him know. He nearly threw it out yesterday."
Your throat catches. You weren't sure how you could fix this, if this was something you would be able to fix. You give your wife's hand a squeeze, and say the only thing you can muster.
"I will."
It was better than you expected. Which... which you hated to admit. Not because you hated being wrong, (though your wife would argue otherwise,) but because you had expected anything less from him. That this whole time, you had done nothing but discourage him, every step of the way. You never saw any of it beyond the initial sketch, but in retrospect that was probably on purpose. You didn't want it to be good, deep down, you had wanted this endeavor to fail, and that... disgusted you. Why did you want so badly for your own son's downfall? Just to be right? You swore it was more than that at the time. Just yesterday, even, you sat him down for a talk about better professions to pursue. It could be considered condescending, sure, but you had his best interest at heart, didn't you? And sure, it devolved into a screaming match but...you swore it would be what was best for him in the long run.
But it wasn't. It never was. And this art, a portrait of your wife, was just as stunning as she was, even in his style...no, especially in his style. Dedicated to the only person that actually believed in his art.
Your wife took your hand and gave it a squeeze. You were immensely grateful she had put up with you these past few weeks.
"So, what do you think? I had to pose quite a few ways for him to get the face right, but I think he captured me well." she asked, imitating the pose the portrait was of.
"It's beautiful." you reply, without skipping a beat.
Her voice softens significantly. "...You know he really wanted you to like it. He didn't say it, but...I think it's important that you let him know. He nearly threw it out yesterday."
Your throat catches. You weren't sure how you could fix this, if this was something you would be able to fix. You give your wife's hand a squeeze, and say the only thing you can muster.
"I will."