Chapter 15 - Abigail Asks About The Old Life
Two years later, fourteen-year-old Abigail sat with me in the conservatory of our estate in the Cotswolds.
The afternoon sun was pouring through the glass roof, illuminating the lush green hills of the English countryside outside.
Abigail was tuning her handmade Italian violin, her long fingers moving across the wooden pegs with graceful confidence.
She paused, looking up at me as I turned a page in my financial journal.
“Mom?” Abigail asked softly.
“Yes, my love?” I replied, setting my pen down on the table.
“Do you ever think about Dad?”
I looked at my eldest daughter, noting how much she had grown into a intelligent, striking young woman.
She had my dark hair and my eyes, but occasionally, a shadow of her father’s smile would touch her lips.
“Sometimes,” I answered truthfully. “I think about the man he was before he lost his way.”
Abigail nodded slowly, adjusting the chin rest of her instrument.
“Charlotte asked me yesterday why we don't have photos of him in the house,” Abigail said quietly.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her that some people are meant to be a chapter in your book, not the whole story,” Abigail answered smoothly.
“And that our story got much better once we turned the page.”
I smiled, a deep warmth filling my heart as I looked at my daughter.
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“That was a very wise answer, Abigail,” I said softly.
She smiled back, brought her violin bow up to the strings, and began playing a breathtaking, perfect melody that filled the bright conservatory.
