“Daddy?” Sophie whispered.
Nadia straightened, fear flickering in her eyes.
“I can explain. I know this looks—”
“Where did they get those instruments?” Daniel interrupted. “I never approved this.”
“I brought them,” Nadia said quietly. “The accordion was my brother’s. He passed away two years ago. The guitar was mine as a child.”
She hesitated.
“I thought music might help them.”
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“They need rehabilitation, not concerts.”
“They need both,” Nadia said, her voice steady now. “And they’ve been practicing for six weeks.”
Six weeks.
“You did this behind my back?”
“You were never here to ask,” she replied simply.
The truth hung heavy in the air.
Leo spoke up, voice small but firm.
“Please don’t be mad at Miss Nadia. We asked her. We wanted to surprise you.”
“For your birthday,” Sophie added softly.
Daniel looked at his children—really looked at them.
They were engaged. Focused. Alive.
“Your children aren’t broken,” Nadia said gently. “They just needed something that belonged to them.”
Daniel sank into a chair.
“Show me,” he said quietly. “Show me what they can do.”
They played again.
A simple song about birds who forgot they could fly—until they heard the right music.