Chapter 6 - Where the Light Falls
One year later.
The springtime air in Boston was sweet with the scent of lilacs and sea salt.
In the private courtyard of our Beacon Hill townhouse, the old magnolia tree had exploded into massive, fragrant blooms of ivory and blush pink. Sunlight filtered through the green canopy, casting dappled, dancing shadows across the brick patio where a long wooden dining table was set for six.
May you like
Sophie sat on the stone bench near the fountain, tuning her cello.
At twelve, she had grown three inches. The hesitant, cautious child who had clung to my shoulder in a rain-soaked Seattle kitchen had been replaced by a confident, luminous young girl whose laughter filled every corner of our home. Her dark hair was pulled back loosely, her gray eyes bright with focused concentration as her bow moved across the strings, coaxing a deep, resonant Bach
