I thought I was looking for a keepsake when I saw an object that had belonged to my missing daughter. I never imagined it would lead me to a truth that had been hidden from me for ten years.
That morning, the house smelled of cinnamon toast, and the light filtering through the curtains softened the atmosphere. Hannah, my eleven-year-old daughter, sat at the table with her feet dangling, waiting for her father to bring out the small velvet box he had been hiding for a week.
Rick placed it in front of her with a smile she hadn’t seen on him in years.
“Happy birthday, darling! I drew this myself!”
Rick placed it in front of her.
Hannah opened the box and let out a scream of surprise!
Inside were two gold earrings shaped like piano keys, each adorned with a small star at the tip. They were unique. Her father had drawn them a hundred times before sending the design to the jeweler.
“They’re beautiful,” our daughter murmured. She looked at me with sparkling eyes. “I’ll never take them off, Mom.”
I moved her bangs aside and kissed her on the crown of her head.
“You don’t have to. They’re yours forever.”
They were one of a kind.
This spring seemed unattainable.
Hannah practiced the piano every afternoon, filling the house with clumsy scales that gradually transformed into real songs. Rick sat beside her on the bench, tapping out the rhythm with his fingers on his knee.
***
That evening, my husband helped her with her math homework at the kitchen table. I braided her hair while she chewed on her pencil.
“Mom, do you think I’ll do well enough for the recital?” he asked one night.
Rick sat down next to her.
