“I dreamed of you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I was lost. In a dark, cold place. No story to write. No ending. And then I heard you. You were playing that Chopin nocturne. The one you played when Dad left. You told me… you said, ‘Follow the sound, Liam. Follow it home.’”

Eleanor pulled back, tears cutting tracks through her foundation. “I haven’t touched a piano in ten years.”

That evening, a nurse found her standing by the window, staring at the churning sea. “Visiting hours ended an hour ago, Mrs. Vance.”

She finally agreed to go home. Just for a shower. Just for an hour. She never made it to the front door.