Chapter 270

Agnes

Eight years had passed by.

The concert hall was packed to capacity, not a single empty seat in sight. My spine ached like hell from sitting on the hard wooden chair for the past two hours, and my pregnant belly made it impossible to find a comfortable position. Elijah kept rubbing his neck and his slightly graying temples and grumbling softly under his breath about sore backs in the morning.

But none of that mattered as I watched Thea take center stage with her violin.

At eighteen, she looked nothing like the little girl who had once walked into a hell beneath the earth with me. Now, she stood tall and confident in a floor-length black dress we’d designed together specifically for this performance, her dark hair swept up into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck.

Gone was the shy, traumatized child who’d hidden behind my knees. In her place stood a young woman on the cusp of adulthood, ready to take on the world.

Elijah clutched my hand as our daughter stepped into the spotlight. I could feel his heartbeat through our bond matching my own.

This wasn’t just any performance. This was Thea’s audition for the Berkshire Academy of Music—the most prestigious music school in the world, with an acceptance rate lower than one percent.

The past ten years had transformed Thea in ways I never could have imagined. The trauma of her early childhood had left its mark, certainly—there were still nights when she woke gasping from nightmares, still days when a chance resemblance to Olivia in a stranger’s face would leave her pale and shaken. But she had channeled so much of that pain into her music.

The violin had been Richard’s gift for her sixteenth birthday. She cherished it even more than her very first violin, and something about it made her even more serious about her passion for music. She practiced until her fingers bled and became callused, until Elijah and I practically went mad hearing the same songs over and over again as she insisted on perfecting each and every one before moving to the next.

And now, at eighteen, she was auditioning for Berkshire, playing the piece she’d composed herself.

The first notes filled the concert hall, so pure and clear they brought immediate tears to my eyes. Elijah’s grip on my hand tightened, and through our bond, I felt his surge of pride.

Thea’s bow danced across the strings, coaxing out a melody that started soft and melancholy before building in intensity. I recognized elements of the piece—echoes of the lullabies I used to sing to her, fragments of her favorite famous pieces, even hints of the classical music Elijah played in his study late at night.

As the piece reached its crescendo, Thea’s body swayed with the music, her eyes closed. I knew that she was no longer on the stage, but rather lost in a fantasy world of her own creation. I saw that look whenever she was wholly focused on her music.

When the final notes of Thea’s piece hung in the air, resonating through the concert hall before fading into a silence so complete you could hear a pin drop, no one moved. No one even seemed to breathe.

Then the applause began—scattered at first, then building into a thunderous roar as people rose to their feet. I would have leapt up too if my belly hadn’t made such sudden movements impossible. Instead, I struggled to my feet with Elijah’s help, clapping until my hands hurt.

Thea opened her eyes, looking almost surprised at the reaction. A small, hesitant smile spread across her face as she took in the standing ovation. She bowed once, twice, her gaze seeking us out in the crowd. When our eyes met, her smile widened into a grin of pure joy.

The judges conferred briefly before holding up their scorecards. Ten. Eight. Nine. Ten. Ten.

A nearly perfect score. Unprecedented in the history of Berkshire auditions.

Thea’s eyes widened in shock. She pressed a hand to her mouth, holding back a sob. I sobbed myself without restraint, although no one could hear it over the roar of the crowd.

The crowd continued to applaud as Thea took one final bow before exiting the stage. The moment she was out of sight, Elijah grabbed my hand.

“Come on,” he said, already pulling me toward the aisle. “Let’s get backstage before everyone else.”

We made our way through the crowd, accepting congratulations from strangers who recognized us. The backstage area was buzzing with people, and there, in the middle of it all, was Thea, still clutching her violin to her chest and looking simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated.

When she spotted us, ran straight into Elijah’s arms. He lifted her off her feet and spun her around as she laughed.

“Did you see?” she asked breathlessly when he set her down. “Did you see the scores? They’ve never given a perfect ten before, not in the history of the school, and I got three of them!”

“We saw,” I said, pulling her into my arms for a hug as best I could with my belly between us. “Thea, it was magnificent. You were magnificent.”

“You’ve been accepted,” Elijah added, his face split in a wide grin. “They’d be absolute fools not to take you after that performance.”

Thea beamed, practically jumping up and down with excitement in the very same way she used to do as a child. “The director already came to talk to me. He said they’re offering me a full scholarship. Full. Scholarship. Do you know how rare that is?”

“About as rare as our daughter,” I said, unable to stop smiling despite the tears still streaming down my face. Pregnancy hormones were a bitch, turning me into a weepy mess at the drop of a hat. “Goddess, I’m so proud of you I could burst.”

Elijah ruffled her hair affectionately. “That’s my girl.”

“Dad!” Thea protested, swatting his hand away and trying to smooth her carefully styled hair back into place. “I’m eighteen! You can’t just mess up my hair whenever you feel like it!”

“Watch me,” he teased, reaching for her again.

She dodged behind me, using my pregnant belly as a shield. “Mom, make him stop!”

I laughed, turning to press kisses all over Thea’s face instead—her forehead, her cheeks, her nose—just as I used to do when she was little.

“Mom!” she groaned, but she was laughing too and not pulling away despite her protests. “You guys are so embarrassing.”

“Get used to it,” Elijah chuckled. “We’re coming to every single one of your performances at Berkshire. Front row. With signs.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Thea gasped.

“Try us.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the three of us laughing together until our faces hurt. Then, as if in answer, the baby nudged at the inside of my belly so hard it made me gasp, and when I looked down, a small shape that was likely a foot was pushing at my skin. Thea’s expression softened, and she poked the shape.

“You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you if you want Mom and Dad to love you more than me,” she told the baby.

I pinched her cheek in retaliation. “Brat.”

We all laughed again, the moment of emotion passing as quickly as it had come. That was our family’s way—we felt things deeply, but we didn’t dwell in the heaviness for long. We’d all had enough pain in our lives to know the value of laughter.

“Come on,” Elijah said, wrapping an arm around each of us. “Let’s get out of here before they try to make you perform an encore.”

We made our way through the crowd, accepting more congratulations as we went. Outside, the autumn evening was cool and clear, the stars just beginning to appear in the darkening sky. Thea walked between us, just as she had when she was small, holding both of our hands.

“Can we get ice cream?” she asked suddenly, looking from me to Elijah and back again.

I chuckled as I met Elijah’s gaze over her head. “Yeah. We can get ice cream.”