Chapter 9
My father took me to the old violin shop downtown.
Not the flashy store Lucinda preferred.
A real shop.
Small.
Warm.
Wooden shelves filled with instruments that smelled like cedar and polish.
The owner, Mr. Bellini, knew my father.
He also knew my mother.
When he saw me, his eyes softened.
“Elena’s girl,” he said.
I nodded.
He did not ask why my eyes filled.
He brought out violins one by one.
Some sounded bright.
Some sounded thin.
Some felt too large in my hands.
My father watched every movement.
He did not rush me.
That alone felt like love.
Then Mr. Bellini opened a black case from the back room.
“This one belonged to a woman who played like she was telling the truth,” he said.
I placed it under my chin.
The first note came out low and warm.
My breath caught.
It was not my old violin.
It would never be.
But the sound did not feel like betrayal.
It felt like a door.
“How much?” my father asked.
Mr. Bellini named a price that made me lower the violin immediately.
“No,” I said. “Too much.”
My father looked at me.
“Amelia.”
“No. I don’t need that one.”
He stepped closer.
“You are allowed to need beautiful things.”
I hated how badly I wanted to believe him.
“What if she breaks this one too?”
“She will never come near it.”
“What if something else happens?”
“Then we face it.”
I looked at the violin.
My hands shook.
“I’m scared to love it.”
My father’s face softened.
“I know.”
Mr. Bellini quietly walked away.
My father touched the case.
“Your mother used to say music is brave because it disappears the moment you make it. You cannot lock it away. You have to trust the air with it.”
I smiled through tears.
“That sounds like Mom.”
“It was.”
May you like
I lifted the violin again.
This time, when I played, I did not stop.
