I had not been good.
Average at best.
But Danny had loved sitting under the piano when I practiced.
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He used to tap the floor in time.
“I quit because I had too much schoolwork.”
Danny frowned.
“You quit because you cried.”
My face went hot.
That was also true.
I’d had a recital where I made three mistakes.
Not disasters.
Three mistakes.
I was so embarrassed I went home and told Mom I didn’t have time for piano anymore.
Danny had been 11.
Apparently he remembered.
He put the piano beside the broken ruler.
“You were still good.”
My throat closed.
He said it so simply.
No speech.
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No lesson.
Just fact.
“You were still good.”
That was the moment I started crying.
