The Legacy Lives On
That night, Emma played until her eyelids drooped. Before leaving, she pressed her small hands against the piano lid and said firmly, “I won’t stop. Ever.”
And I knew she wouldn’t.
Evelyn’s letter had found its way home—not through the son who dismissed her dreams, but through the granddaughter who carried them forward. My living room, once silent, now thrummed with music and purpose. The piano wasn’t just furniture anymore—it was a vessel for a promise, a bond between a grandmother and the child she loved.
And I, by sheer accident, had been the one chosen to deliver it.
