My first exhibition opens tomorrow, and I want to take every painting down

Dear Delyara, I am forty-four and have painted privately since I was a teenager. I never called myself an artist because the word felt too ambitious for someone who worked in payroll. Last year, a local gallery accepted my work for a small exhibition. Tomorrow is the opening. Tonight, I am sitting on the gallery floor seriously considering taking everything home before strangers can look at it. My husband says people already bought two pieces in advance. That makes it worse. What if they regret it? The paintings are personal—my mother’s hands, the hospital corridor where my daughter was born, the back of my father’s head while he watched television. When they were in my spare room, they belonged to me. On white gallery walls, they look exposed, almost indecent. My daughter posted the invitation online and wrote, “Mum finally letting the world see what we see.” Everybody keeps treating tomorrow like a victory. I feel like I accidentally invited strangers into my diary and now have twelve hours to close the door before they arrive.