I Ended My Mother’s Stolen Legacy Onstage Chapter 08
Of course she recognized him.
The older man was her ex–husband’s father and her son’s grandfather.
“I’ve held onto this for 15 years.” Grandpa walked onstage and placed the box on the table. “I should show the world what’s inside now.”
He opened it to reveal a stack of yellowed paper.
“This was James‘ diary. He kept it from the day he married Emma right up until three days before the accident.”
Grandpa took one page and projected it onto the large screen.
The handwriting was elegant, with deep blue ink unique to a fountain pen.
“Today, Emma told me she was going out of town for a business trip. I asked her how long she would be gone. She said a week.”
“Emma came back and told me she was pregnant. She’s already two months along. I’m so happy. I’m going to be a father.”
The next one read, “Emma hasn’t come home in a long time. Sam asked where she went, but I didn’t know how to answer him. Maybe she really is just busy.”
Grandpa flipped through several more pages.
“Sam had a fever today, so I took him to the hospital alone. The doctor said he needed to be hospitalized. I called Emma, but she didn’t pick up. Later, a man did. He said Emma was taking a shower. I didn’t say anything and hung up. Maybe I’m overthinking this.”
Grandpa flipped to the last page. It was written one day before the car accident.
“Emma came back today. She said she would accompany me to the concert tomorrow. She said she’s proud of me. I’m so happy. I think she’s changed her mind.”
“I secretly took a photo of her standing beside my car this morning. She was probably checking the car for me. Emma has never done this before. She really has changed.”
“No matter what, I will play well tomorrow. For Sam, and for myself.”
C Grandpa put the diary back in the box and turned to face Emma.
“You said he was stubborn and that everyone would have suffered if he’d stayed alive. But he was still waiting for yo you to come home on the day he died. You said he wasn’t destined for greatness. You were wrong. That was never
the truth. He just lacked luck. You stole that luck from him.
Gr Grandpa’s voice quivered. “Now, return the life you stole from him.”
er eyes turning red. It wasn’t an act. After 15 years, she was finally forced tuy forced to face what
They were worthless.
es the evidence—the diary Grandpa had kept tucked away in a chest all these your those years, the e he left, the mechanic’s statement, the archived recording of the wiretap, and temp, and the DNA
yone, both onstage and offstage, at this moment.
tel. A reporter had called the police for me.
e banquet hall.
you’re suspected of intentional homicide, evidence fabrication, and intellectual tellectual re cousing with us.”
“It’s fine.”
I hung up.
David also calle
“Mr. Ziegler, I l
I truly didn’t bli
In this circle, it
I only remembe
That old man w
FODER
concert of his o‘
But his
But his son had
connect to look at me, trying to say something.
One month One month late
The lights The lights dimr
I put thy fit put my fingers
she waspsshe wasn’t.
It was “Nott was “Nocturr
I closed my closed my eye:
the didn’t che didn’t cry. He had waited for this day for 15 years
It wasn’t the wasn’t the sh
calluses grazed ses grazed my palm.
tuning pianosing pianos.
after Enuma and Mason wereason were arrested. Reporters scrambled frantically to
on were grim as they converiery convened an emergency meeting that very night. They
e next morning.
He was sittle was sitting i in the world the world wh
My fingers andngers land
Thunderous appdensus ap
I stood up and bowerland t
That was when the when
Perhaps it was his. Perhas
But I knew he had heard it
the dean and all of her honorary hoorary titles.
formance contracts were revokedze revoked.
d to me and reinstated me as a padge as a judge.
e public eye. Some said he had gone abrogone abroad, while others said he had re he went.
More Emotional Reail
tears. “Samuel, I was wrong. The company’s xmpany’s statement wasn’t my decision
“It’s fine.”
I hung up.
David also called me. “Sam, I…”
“Mr. Ziegler, I know you did what’s best for me. I don’t blame you.”
I truly didn’t blame him.
In this circle, it was instinctive to think of oneself first. I didn’t blame anyone.
I only remembered that, when I was at my most helpless, Grandpa had stood by my side.
That old man with a hunched back and fingers covered in calluses had spent his life tuning pianos, yet never had a
concert of his own.
But his son had written the most beautiful music in the world, and his grandson had brought it back to life.
One month later, I sat before a piano in a packed Vobley Music Hall.
The lights dimmed.
I put my fingers on the keys, and the first note rang out.
It was “Nocturne“, the piece Dad composed, the one he played for me the night of his death.
I closed my eyes.
It wasn’t the sheet music that came to my mind, but his face.
He was sitting in front of the old piano, smiling at me. “Samm, I’ll play a new piece for you. You’re the only person in the world who can really get it.”
My fingers landed on the final note.
Thunderous applause echoed through the hall.
I stood up and bowed.
That was when I heard a faint, distant voice.
Perhaps it was his. Perhaps it was not.
But I knew he had heard it.
