The room went strangely quiet, like the house itself wanted to hear what happened next.
I blinked hard. “You sold it?”
“Yes,” my dad said in the same casual tone you’d use to discuss weather. “It was valuable. It was just sitting there unused. Your grandmother wasn’t even playing it anymore.”
“It wasn’t hers to use,” I said, my voice rising. “It was Lucy’s.”
Rachel laughed, finally glancing up from her phone screen.
“She’s eleven years old,” she said, as if that age explained and justified everything.
My mom set her coffee mug down with a soft clink against the granite.
“Emily, don’t start creating drama.”
“Don’t start?” I repeated incredulously. “You sold my daughter’s cello without asking.”
My dad leaned back in his chair like he was settling into a business negotiation at work.
“It was a family asset,” he said matter-of-factly.
“No,” I snapped. “It was specifically set aside for Lucy. Grandma was completely clear about that.”
Rachel rolled her eyes dramatically.
“And what about my kids?” she said. “Ben and Olivia deserve something nice too, don’t they?”
Ben and Olivia weren’t even in the room at that moment, and somehow they were still being positioned as the main characters in this story.
My mom waved a hand vaguely toward the backyard, where construction sounds thudded faintly through the glass.
“We’re doing something wonderful for the children,” she said primly.
I stared at her in disbelief. “The children,” I repeated.
“Ben and Olivia deserve space to play and make memories,” my mom said with that self-satisfied tone.
“And Lucy doesn’t deserve anything?” I cut in sharply.
My dad rubbed his forehead, already exhausted by the mere fact that I was being a person with opinions and feelings.
“Lucy will be perfectly fine with a student cello,” he said dismissively. “You can rent one. Plenty of kids do it. She’ll adjust fine.”
Lucy will be fine.
That’s my family’s favorite prayer, their go-to mantra. It actually means we did what we wanted and we’re not dealing with your inconvenient feelings about it.
My hands were shaking with anger. I forced them to stay still against the counter edge.
“Where is it right now?” I asked quietly, dangerously. “Who did you sell it to?”
My dad shrugged carelessly.
“Some collector guy. He paid by wire transfer. It was a quick, clean sale.”
Of course it was.
My mom’s eyes sharpened with warning.
“And before you get any dramatic ideas, you are absolutely not telling your grandmother about this,” she said firmly.
I stared at her, stunned by the audacity.
“She doesn’t need unnecessary stress right now,” my mom continued, her voice clipped and controlled. “She’s settling into her new facility. Professionals are taking good care of her there. Let her have some peace in her new situation.”
“You mean let you have peace,” I said coldly.
My dad’s expression hardened into something uglier.
“Don’t make this about you, Emily,” he said.
I laughed once, sharp and completely humorless.
“It’s about my child,” I said clearly.
Rachel leaned forward with that fake-sweet voice that makes you want to check if your wallet is still in your pocket.
“Emily, honestly, you’re always acting like Lucy is some tragic orphan,” she said. “She’s completely fine. She has you, doesn’t she?”
The way she said “you” made it sound like a punishment instead of a blessing.
I turned and walked back down the hall without another word.
Lucy was still standing in the music room, waiting in that empty corner like she was hoping someone would tell her she mattered.
I knelt down and took both her hands in mine.
“We’re going home now,” I said gently.
Lucy nodded without arguing or asking questions.
That was the absolute worst part. She didn’t fight or protest. She just folded inward, like she’d been trained her whole life for exactly this kind of disappointment.
As we left, my mom called after me from the kitchen.
“Emily, do not call your grandmother about this. Do you hear me?”
I didn’t answer her.
Because I did hear her clearly.
I just didn’t care anymore what she wanted.
And that’s when I knew with absolute certainty that I was going to tell my grandmother everything.
The Painful Reality
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