Chapter 1

When Nathan pulled the violin from Rose’s hands, my daughter was still standing in the center of the stage, the last note hanging in the air of the charity concert hall.

The crowd had been applauding.

The next second, Nathan took the microphone and held out his hand to an eight-year-old boy in the front row.

"Tonight, there’s another special child I’d like everyone to meet," he said, smiling. "Leo Grant—my son, and the boy who will carry on my name."

The violin I had spent two years restoring was handed over to another child.

It was the violin my mother had left me.

Before my mother passed away, she used to sit by the hospital window, wiping its wood grain over and over.

She said a violin never lies for anyone.

It remembers who truly loves it and who merely treats it as a pretty object.

When Rose took the stage for the first time at five years old, I gave the violin to her.

She held the case carefully, like holding a newborn puppy, and asked if she could bring music to people just like her grandmother did.

Until tonight, I had always thought Nathan would at least be proud of his daughter.

Rose stood under the spotlight, her hands still frozen in playing position.

She didn't cry; she just stared at the violin in Nathan's hands, her face so pale it made my heart ache.

"Dad," she finally spoke, "that’s my violin."

Nathan didn't look back at her.

He knelt down, placed the violin in Leo’s arms, and adjusted the strap for the boy, his movements patient, almost tender. "Leo will be studying at the foundation from now on, too. Rose, you’re the older sister. You need to learn to share."

Leo looked from Nathan to Vivian, confused by the violin in his arms. He had not asked for it.

The adults had decided what he was supposed to represent before he ever touched it.

Vivian was the foundation's head of finance, and what Nathan called his "most reliable partner over the years."

Tonight, she wore a dark blue evening gown, her fingers clutching the event program in her lap.

Her eyes were red, looking as though she was overcome with emotion by Nathan's long-overdue public recognition.

Suddenly, I understood.

She wasn't moved.

She had been waiting for this moment.

Nathan continued speaking to the donors in the audience, explaining that Leo hadn't received proper family support over the years, so he had decided to establish a new "Legacy Scholarship" to help children like Leo receive arts education.

Applause broke out in the crowd.

Some people cast sympathetic looks toward Vivian.

No one asked why Rose was standing on stage, why her solo had been interrupted, or why all she had left in her hands was a blank sheet of music.

I walked onto the stage and took my daughter's cold hand.

Nathan finally frowned and lowered his voice. "Adeline, don't cause a scene here. Today is very important for Leo."

"What about Rose?" I asked.

"She's only missing one song," he said, his tone laced with exhaustion, as if I were making a fuss over nothing. "It’s just a violin. You can buy her another one."

Rose's fingers twitched inside my palm.

I didn't look at Nathan again. I led her off the stage and walked past the guests who pretended not to see us.

As we reached the side door, Rose suddenly stopped and looked up at me.

"Mom, did I not play well enough? Is that why Dad doesn't want me anymore?"

I squatted down, wanting to tell her that it was never her fault.

But the large screen in the hall had already switched to the foundation's new promotional photo.

In the photo, Nathan stood in the center with Vivian and Leo beside him, looking like a complete and happy family.

And the names of Rose and me, along with the piece she was supposed to play tonight, had vanished from the program entirely.