Her babysitter had canceled at the last minute, leaving her with no choice but to bring her seven-year-old daughter, Ava.
Ava sat quietly on a small stool near the back wall, her feet barely touching the ground. She had learned early how to stay out of the way, how to make herself small in places where she didn’t belong. Emma handed her a plate of food and knelt down in front of her.
“Stay right here, okay?” she said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “Don’t wander. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
Ava nodded obediently.
She always did.
But then she heard it.
At first, it was faint—just a distant echo drifting down the hallway. But as she tilted her head, the sound grew clearer. Piano music.
Something in her chest stirred.
Music had always done that to her. She had never taken lessons. There had never been money for that. But she listened—on old radios, through open windows, anywhere she could. And somehow, she remembered.
The sound pulled at her.
Before she fully realized it, she slipped off the stool and followed it.