Chapter 10 – The Song She Hadn’t Forgotten

Luca stared at the handwriting.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then he reached for Isabelle’s hand.

“That’s your mother’s writing.”

Isabelle leaned closer.

She studied the little blue letters.

“Mommy wrote that?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

Luca shook his head.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

The craftsman carefully secured the loosened label so it wouldn’t be damaged further.

Then he placed the music box on the workbench.

“I’ll do my best to preserve everything.”

Isabelle looked worried.

“Even the writing?”

“Especially the writing.”

She nodded.

“Okay.”

As we left the workshop, Luca seemed unusually quiet.

I noticed because he was normally the one who decided where everyone went and what happened next.

That afternoon, he simply followed Isabelle.

She wanted hot chocolate.

He bought two cups.

She wanted to sit near the window.

He let her choose the table.

And when she began talking about school, he listened without interruption.

For a while, they looked like any father and daughter spending an afternoon together.

Then Isabelle asked something that made him put down his cup.

“Daddy, why did Mommy write that on the music box?”

He thought for a moment.

“Because she wanted you to remember how much she loved you.”

Isabelle looked at her drink.

“But how did she know I’d need her?”

Luca swallowed.

“She knew she’d been very sick.”

The little girl nodded.

For several seconds, she stirred her hot chocolate.

Then she whispered, “Did she know she was going to die?”

Luca looked at her.

I could see how badly he wanted to protect her from the answer.

But Isabelle was ten.

She already knew what death meant.

“Yes,” he said gently. “Near the end, she knew she probably wasn’t going to get better.”

Isabelle’s eyes filled.

“Was she scared?”

He took a long breath.

“Sometimes.”

“Did she cry?”

“Yes.”

Isabelle looked surprised.

“Mommy cried?”

“Of course, baby.”

“But she was always smiling.”

Luca shook his head.

“She tried to make sure you had happy memories. But she was human, sweetheart. She got frightened and sad, just like the rest of us.”

Isabelle considered that.

Then she asked, “Were you scared too?”

Luca looked down.

“Very.”

She reached across the table.

He took her hand.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Isabelle whispered, “I wish I’d helped her.”

Luca’s eyes filled.

“Oh, sweetheart. You did.”

She frowned.

“How?”

“You loved her.”

Isabelle stared at him.

He continued.

“Every time you climbed into her lap. Every time you asked her to sing. Every time you made her laugh.”

He squeezed her hand.

“You gave your mother more happiness than you can imagine.”

Isabelle began crying.

Quietly.

Without trying to hide it.

Luca moved beside her.

He held her until she was ready to sit up again.

When we returned to the mansion, Isabelle went upstairs to change.

Luca remained in the music room.

I found him standing beside Caroline’s grand piano.

His hand rested on the closed keyboard cover.

“Charlotte?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you know anything about music?”

I smiled faintly.

“Very little.”

He nodded.

“Neither do I.”

He opened the piano.

The keys looked untouched.

For years, Caroline had played there every evening.

After her death, the instrument had been left closed.

Luca sat down.

He pressed a single key.

Then another.

The notes sounded strangely lonely in the quiet room.

“She used to play that song here,” he said.

“Isabelle’s song?”

He nodded.

“She made it up when Isabelle was a baby.”

He looked toward the staircase.

“I used to tease her about singing the same thing every night.”

I smiled.

“She probably liked that.”

He laughed softly.

“She told me I’d complain if she stopped.”

He paused.

“She was right.”

For a while, he pressed a few uncertain notes.

Then Isabelle appeared in the doorway.

“Daddy?”

He turned.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to remember your mother’s song.”

She walked toward him.

“You’re playing it wrong.”

He smiled.

“I suspected that.”

She climbed onto the bench beside him.

“Move over.”

He obeyed.

Isabelle placed her fingers on the keys.

She played the first few notes.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Then stopped.

“That’s all I remember.”

Luca looked at her.

“That’s more than I remembered.”

She smiled.

They tried again.

The melody came back in small pieces.

A few notes from Isabelle.

A familiar phrase Luca remembered hearing from the kitchen.

One little section they both recognized.

By the time Mrs. Carter came to tell them dinner was ready, they were laughing.

The music wasn’t perfect.

But it belonged to them.

Three weeks later, the repaired music box returned.

The porcelain flowers still had their faded paint.

A thin silver line showed where the ballerina’s arm had been repaired.

And when Isabelle turned the little brass key, the familiar melody filled her bedroom again.

She listened with her eyes closed.

Then she opened them.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Mommy would like how we fixed it?”

Luca smiled.

“I think she’d be very proud.”

Isabelle looked at the ballerina.

Then whispered, “She has a scar now.”

He nodded.

“She does.”

“Like my knee.”

Luca laughed softly.

“Exactly.”

Isabelle smiled.

Then she looked at her father.

“Scars don’t mean something isn’t beautiful.”

He stared at her.

“No, sweetheart.”

His voice caught.

“They don’t.”

Five months later, Isabelle had learned to play the entire melody on the piano.

She was preparing to perform it at her school’s spring music evening.

Luca had promised he’d be there.

The date was circled on his office calendar.

But that morning, Mrs. Carter came into the music room with a message from Vanessa’s medical office.

Vanessa had gone into labor earlier than expected.

Luca read the information carefully.

Then looked toward the piano.

Isabelle was standing beside it in her pale-blue recital dress.

She saw his expression.

And before he could speak, she whispered:

“Daddy, is the baby coming tonight?”

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