Neither did his antique watch collection, but she didn’t say that. She turned back to the canvas.

The sentence followed her through the marriage. Paint doesn’t pay the mortgage. He said it when she spent three hundred dollars on archival canvas.

He said it when she declined a charity luncheon to finish a commission that later fell through. He said it after buying a ninety-thousand-dollar abstract for the firm’s conference room — the work of a man ten years younger than Evelyn, whom Daniel called fearless.

At home, her paintings stayed stacked in the attic. During dinner parties, Daniel mentioned her work as a charming domestic oddity. “My wife paints,” he would say.

“It keeps her peaceful.” Once, one of his partners asked whether Evelyn had ever sold anything.

“A few small pieces,” she answered.