The night of the opening, Emma stood in the center of the gallery, surrounded by her paintings, her children, her friends, and felt something she hadn't experienced in years: pride. Not the defensive pride that had sustained her through her marriage, the pretense that everything was fine when it was falling apart. But genuine pride, rooted in accomplishment, in creation, in the knowledge that she had made something meaningful.

"Room to Breathe" had drawn a crowd that spilled out onto ...