Amelia became an architect, not a musician.
Violin remained part of her life.
At thirty-two, she played Grace’s lullaby at my seventy-sixth birthday.
Not perfectly.
Didn’t matter.
Lucinda was there.
Harper too.
No donor.
No score.
No solo title.
Just family.
The music box made from the broken violin sat on a side table holding birthday candles.
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