Chapter 7 - THE RHYTHM OF HEALING
The piano in the living room, which had remained closed and silent since Valerie’s funeral, was finally opened.
It wasn't me who played it first.
It was Rosa.
One afternoon, while sunlight streamed warmly across the hardwood floors, Rosa sat on the piano bench with Noah leaning against her shoulder and Ethan picking out simple chords on his small guitar.
I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a tray of sliced apples, watching them.
Noah looked up, saw me, and instead of shrinking away or hiding behind the couch, he smiled. A real, bright, gap-toothed smile.
“Dad,” Noah called out, his voice strong and clear. “Rosa is teaching us the song Mom used to sing about the yellow train.”
“Can I join?” I asked, my voice thick with emotion.
Ethan nodded enthusiastically, scooting over on the bench to make room.
I walked over, set the tray down, and sat on the floor beside them. For the first time in two years, the oppressive ghost of grief that haunted the hallways of our home didn't feel like a shroud. It felt like a warm memory.
Rosa looked down at me, her dark eyes kind and steady.
May you like
“You missed a board meeting at three o'clock, Mr. Carter,” she teased gently, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips.
“Let them fire me,” I replied, wrapping my arms around my sons as they began to strum their instruments off-beat, out of tune, and utterly, perfectly alive. “I have a much more important job right here.”
