I ran into my ex-husband while shopping for a piano for my daughter. We'd been divorced for seven years.
The sales associate spotted him and hurried over with a bright smile. "Mr. Simmons! Back again to pick out a new piano for your wife? She's so lucky to have a husband like you."
Wyatt Simmons looked past the associate, his gaze landing squarely on me. After a beat, he said, "Pick one out for her too. Put it on my account."
I smiled and shook my head, letting him know I'd already made my choice.
But he went ahead and pressed a black card into my palm. "Your dream was always to own a Steinway. But with what you're making now, you could scrub floors for the rest of your life and still only get close enough to touch one. How would you ever afford it?"
"Mildred, it's been seven years. Stop being stubborn with me."
My mind went blank for a moment.
A world-class Steinway? I already owned one.
And him? I'd let go of him a long time ago.
——
"You're overthinking this. I'm not being stubborn."
I stepped past Wyatt and said quietly to the associate, "I'll take the one we discussed. Please have it delivered to this address."
He clearly didn't believe me. His gaze was dark and heavy as he watched.
A moment later, he snatched the slip of paper from my hand. "Harmony Academy?"
His brow furrowed. "Mildred, I know the headmaster well. I'll put in a word—have them assign that kind of work to someone else."
"You're already doing janitorial work, and that's already—"
His voice faltered. The rims of his eyes had gone red. "Mildred, if things have been this hard for you, why didn't you come to me?"
I blinked.
Janitorial work?
I glanced down instinctively and caught my reflection in the polished surface of a piano. The shirt I'd thrown on today was a little faded.
It did look a bit like a cleaning uniform, now that I noticed.
Of course.
In Wyatt Simmons's eyes, I'd always been someone barely scraping by.
But I had no interest in explaining myself. I offered a faint smile. "I'm buying the piano myself. There's no need to bother the headmaster."
Then I walked to the counter and paid.
Tonight was the night my daughter had won first place in the National Youth Piano Competition.
I needed to get home and celebrate with her.
Autumn had arrived early in Riverton that year, sharp and sudden.
I hadn't even made it to the parking lot before I was hugging my arms against the chill.
When I looked up, a dark figure stood in my path.
Wyatt shoved a purchase order into my bag.
He was breathing hard, and there was a stubbornness on his face I'd never seen before. "Mildred, I returned the piano you just bought. I exchanged it for the Steinway—the one you always wanted."
His fingers trembled.
"I still remember. Your dream was to play your own concert on one."
"Consider this piano a gift from me. Please... stop resenting me. Can you do that?"
When I heard those words, I slowly pulled off my gloves.
I hadn't said a single word. But the moment his eyes fell on my hands—covered in scars, every finger—he went silent.
After all, he knew better than anyone that I could never perform in a concert again.
Eight years ago, I had been the most talked-about competitor in the National Piano Competition.
But the day before the finals, he stole my original compositions and gave them to his protégée, Vera Swanson—all to make her famous. And when she deliberately poured boiling water over my hands, he did nothing to stop her.
My fingers were scalded beyond recognition, flesh raw and ruined. And still, he shielded Vera behind him. "Mildred Fox! It's one competition. Did you really have to fight Vera for it?"
He dragged me to the hospital. "You want a championship? I'll arrange another competition for you next year."
"But this time, you step aside for Vera."
I cried the entire night. Stubbornly, I peeled the blood-soaked bandages from my hands.
