I stared at my father.
“What is this?”
He smiled through his tears.
“Do you remember how much your mother loved music?”
I nodded.
My mother had passed away years earlier.
She had always dreamed that someone in our family would become a musician.
My father continued:
“One day, Emma told me she wanted to learn how to play the violin. I found a music school operating inside the hotel. I’ve been taking her there every weekend.”
I looked at my daughter.
She smiled shyly.
“Mommy, I wanted to play Grandma’s favorite song for your birthday.”
My eyes filled with tears.
My father continued:
“I rented Room 214 because Emma needed somewhere to rest after her music lessons. For the past few weeks, we’ve been preparing a special performance at the hotel.”
“And what about her foot?”
My father lowered his head.
“Last week, after her lesson, we went to the beach. She stepped on something sharp. At first, the wound looked minor. I was wrong not to tell you immediately.”
