My Grief, His Masterpiece

The phone buzzed, a relentless vibration I tried to ignore, but Sarah' s furious face on the video call told me I couldn' t.

My artist husband, Ethan, had unveiled his new exhibition, "Raw Truths," a brutal public dissection of our dead marriage.

The centerpiece? A twenty-foot-tall projection of me sleeping, mouth open, drooling.

The internet exploded, half calling him a monster, half calling me a willing muse.

Then I scrolled to the next piece: a distorted loop of my voice, crying after a fight, packaged and sold as art. My phone buzzed again, Ethan' s name on the caller ID.