"Where's Mom?" I asked, noticing her absence at the table. She usually never misses a meal, especially one like this.
Dad didn't look surprised. He simply continued slicing his salmon as he answered, "She went out. Said she had plans to meet a friend today."
I nodded slowly, trying not to let the disappointment show. I had hoped she would join us, that maybe we could talk—really talk. But it seemed she wasn't ready for that yet.
Dad must have noticed my expression because he quickly changed the subject. "By the way, sweetie, I've already spoken to one of my colleagues at Stanford Law School."
That caught my attention. My fork hovered mid-air as I looked up at him, my heart skipping a beat. "Wait… Stanford?"
He smiled, setting his knife down. "Yes. He's one of the professors there, and I mentioned your interest in studying law. He thinks you'd be a great candidate, and with your academic record—even with the gap from your recovery—you still have a strong chance of getting in."
I blinked, trying to process what he was saying. Stanford. One of the top law schools in the country. The thought sent a mix of excitement and nervousness through me.
"Dad, that's… wow. I mean, I was just starting to think about law school, and now you're talking about Stanford?"
He chuckled. "I know it sounds sudden, but I believe in you, Noa. You're smart, determined, and more capable than you give yourself credit for. If this is the path you want, I want to make sure you have the best opportunities available."
I swallowed, feeling a surge of gratitude. After everything, having at least one parent fully support my decision meant everything to me.
"Thank you, Dad. Really. This means a lot."
"You don't have to thank me, sweetheart. I just want you to be happy." He reached for his glass of water and added it with a smirk, "Besides, I could use another lawyer on my team someday."
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "No pressure, huh?"
He grinned. "Only a little."
For the first time in a while, I felt something I hadn't in months—hope. Maybe, just maybe, I was finally finding my own path.
As we enjoyed our lunch date on the balcony, we heard the sound of Mom's car pulling up.
"I think that's your mom," Dad said, glancing toward the driveway. "Cecille, go tell her we're here and invite her to join us for lunch."
Nana Cecille quickly made her way downstairs. Through the glass window, I could see Mom stepping out of the car. She looked happy—almost too happy—carrying a few shopping bags, and she wasn't alone. A woman accompanied her, someone unfamiliar to me.
A few moments later, Mom appeared on the balcony, her face lit up with a bright smile.
"Hello there, sweetie," she greeted me warmly, wrapping me in a hug and kissing my forehead. She turned to Dad, embracing him before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
Dad eyed the shopping bags she held. "What's with you today, hon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You did splurge a little, didn't you?"
Mom chuckled, waving it off. "Oh, this? It's nothing. We just did a little shopping, and I got you both something special."
She handed me a sleek paper bag with the Louis Vuitton logo, and for Dad, she revealed a brand-new Rolex watch.
"Okay, no need to thank me, but—you're welcome," she said playfully, though I could tell something was off. Just earlier today, she had been upset—disappointed, even—because I decided to change careers. She and Dad had argued about it, yet now she was acting as if none of that had happened.
"Oh! I almost forgot," Mom said suddenly. "Sweetie, do you remember Luisa?" She gestured toward the woman beside her.
I shook my head, signaling that I didn't. I noticed Dad also looked confused, his brows slightly furrowed.
Mom didn't seem bothered by my lack of recognition and continued, "This is Maestro Luisa, your cello instructor. The one who molded you into becoming an excellent cellist."
Luisa smiled warmly. "It's nice to see you again, Noa. I'm glad to see you're doing well. Everyone at the orchestra misses you—we can't wait to have you back."
I stiffened. Before I could even respond, Mom interjected, her voice filled with something close to desperation.
"Oh, about that," she started. "Noa actually suffered from retrograde amnesia after the accident. Some of her memories were erased, including her ability to play the cello."
Dad sat up straighter, his expression shifting. "Excuse me? What's this all about?" he asked, his tone laced with irritation.
"The reason I invited Luisa here is to help Noa regain her skills," Mom said matter-of-factly. "If she starts playing again, it might trigger her muscle memory and help her recover her talent."
Dad exhaled sharply, trying to keep his temper in check. "Amanda, haven't we already discussed this?" His voice was strained, a mix of frustration and disbelief.
"Noa just needs a few lessons," Mom insisted. "It's worth a try."
I sat there, feeling trapped between the two of them. I thought Mom had finally let go of this cello dream. I thought she had accepted my decision. But here she was, trying to pull me back into it.
Dad let out a short, humorless laugh. "You're really doing this again?" he muttered under his breath.
Mom ignored his comment and turned to me expectantly. "So, I've already arranged for a lesson today—"
"Can we talk upstairs?" Dad cut in, his voice tight with barely contained anger.
I knew where this was headed—another argument. Another battle between them. I didn't want to sit through that again.
Before Dad could pull Mom away, I spoke up. "No," I said firmly. "It's okay, Dad."
His eyes softened as he looked at me. "But Noa, you don't have to do this."
I took a deep breath, locking my eyes with Mom and Luisa. "I'll give it a try," I said, my voice was steady. "Just for today. If I can't play by the end of the lesson, that's it. I'm done with it—for good."
Mom's smile faltered for just a second before she regained composure. Luisa nodded in understanding.
Dad studied my expression, then sighed. "If that's what you want," he said, though I could tell he wasn't happy about it.
I wasn't sure if this was a mistake. But one way or another, today would be the day I finally put this part of my life behind me—one way or another.
I stood up from where I was seated, and my mom's face lit up with excitement. She eagerly gestured toward my room, urging me to follow. Before stepping inside, I glanced back at Dad, searching for reassurance. His eyes met mine, filled with concern. I offered him a small, confident smile, silently telling him that I'd be fine. He returned it, but there was hesitation in his expression—a silent plea that I didn't have to do this if I didn't want to.
I wished I could believe my own assurance.
As we entered my room, Mom made herself comfortable on the couch, crossing her legs as she settled in to watch. She looked entirely at ease, but I knew better. She was waiting—waiting for this moment to prove something.
Luisa's gaze landed on the large case resting on my bed
"Is this your cello?" Luisa asked, pointing to a large case.
"Yes," I answered simply.
"May I see it?" she asked, waiting for my permission.
"Yeah, go ahead," I said, stepping aside.
She carefully unlatched the case and the moment the lid was fully open, she gasped in awe. "Wow… a Stradivarius!" she breathed, running her fingers over the polished wood as if it were something sacred.
"Strad-what?" I asked, utterly lost.
"A Stradivarius!" she repeated excitedly, but then her enthusiasm faltered as she remembered—I had no recollection of my life as a cellist. "Oh… right, sorry." She cleared her throat before explaining. "Stradivarius is one of the rarest, most expensive and sought-after brands for orchestral instruments. Their sound quality is unmatched, which is why they're worth millions worth millions. You're incredibly lucky to own one."
Millions.
I looked down at the cello, its deep amber varnish glowing under the soft light. It was strange—knowing that something so valuable had once been mine, yet feeling no connection to it at all. It might as well have been just another object in my room.
I simply nodded, offering a polite smile. The words meant little to me. What was the point of having such an expensive instrument if I didn't even remember how to play it?
Luisa gently lifted the cello from its case, handling it with the care of someone who truly appreciated its worth. She began explaining each part—the fingerboard, the bridge, the strings—before demonstrating how everything worked.
She then moved on to positioning, adjusting my posture and hand placement as I sat down. She guided me on how to hold the bow properly, ensuring my fingers curved just right around the frog.
Once she was satisfied with my form, she demonstrated the basics—playing a few chords, one after the other, letting the rich sound resonate through the room. She repeated the motion three times, slow and precise, before turning to me expectantly.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
I nodded, though I wasn't sure I truly was. In my mind, I was already preparing for failure. Earlier, when I tried the cello on my own, it sounded like a screeching door. I hadn't even focused on her lesson just now, too caught up in my thoughts.
Still, I went through the motions. I adjusted my posture, positioned the cello against me, and held the bow the way she had taught me. My fingers pressed against the strings, attempting to form the correct chords. I had no expectations—I knew I wouldn't hit the right notes.
But then, as my bow touched the strings—
A clear, rich note rang through the room.
My eyes widened.
This can't be…
A sound filled the room.
Not noise. Not an ear-piercing screech.
A note.
A real note.
My mind raced. How?
My breath caught in my throat.
I could feel the vibrations beneath my fingertips, the resonance of the strings beneath the bow. It wasn't perfect, but it was unmistakable. I had played a note.
I wasn't supposed to be able to do this.
I shouldn't be able to do this.
I had convinced myself that this part of me was lost forever. That there was nothing left to salvage. And yet, here it was—something buried deep within me, resurfacing.
I looked up, my pulse pounding.
Mom was already on her feet, her expression triumphant.
Her eyes gleamed with something victorious, as if she had just proven something. She didn't say the words out loud, but I could hear them anyway.
I told you. I knew it. This is where you belong.
A lump formed in my throat.
I could've ignored her. I should've ignored her.
But in that moment, as the note hung in the air, as my own body betrayed me, I wasn't sure where I stood anymore.
Something had shifted.
And I didn't know what to do about it.
Something inside me...remembered.