Chapter 8
The next morning, the house was too quiet.
No sharp heels on the stairs.
No orders shouted at servants.
No perfume lingering in the hall like a warning.
I woke up with my recital dress still hanging on the chair.
My shoulder ached.
My eyes burned.
On my desk, Mrs. Bell’s violin rested in its case.
Beside it was my broken bow.
I touched the case but did not open it.
I was afraid the music had left me.
At breakfast, my father sat across from me and Harper.
He looked as if he had not slept.
“I failed both of you,” he said.
Harper shook her head.
“No, Daddy.”
He looked at her gently.
“Yes. I did.”
She stared at him.
He had never corrected her for calling him that.
Lucinda hated when Harper did it.
She said it sounded desperate.
My father did not.
“I believed peace was the same as safety,” he said. “I was wrong.”
I pushed my eggs around the plate.
“Is she coming back?”
“No.”
The answer came fast.
Firm.
My chest loosened.
Harper whispered, “What about me?”
My father reached across the table.
“You stay here if you want to.”
Her face crumpled.
“But she’s my mother.”
“I know.”
“If I stay, she’ll hate me.”
I looked at her.
“She already hurts you.”
Harper cried silently.
My father moved around the table and knelt beside her chair.
“You do not have to earn a place here,” he said. “You have one.”
Harper threw her arms around him.
I looked away, not because I was jealous.
Because it hurt to see someone get the words I had needed too.
Then my father came to me.
He knelt again.
“I should have protected your mother’s memory better. And you.”
My throat tightened.
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have asked.”
That was true.
I nodded.
He kissed my forehead.
“I am asking now. What do you need?”
May you like
I looked toward the music room.
“I need a violin.”
