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"She hung it up in frames about the house as though it were mere decoration" He recalled, the bitter memory filling his mind. Then again, he could swear that the supposed memory was tricking him in some way, had she ever been proud of him? He doubted it, she wouldn't have treated his work so carelessly if she really did.
But then again, she wouldn't have gone through all that trouble with the publishers if she didn't believe in him.
He knew what the old phrase was, with time, things grow hazy.
His memories were somewhat in tact of her, but why couldn't he remember her face then of all things?