Riley’s fingers danced across the piano keys, the final notes of Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat major lingering in the air. She exhaled, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she closed the sheet music.
“That was beautiful, Brent,” she said, her eyes twinkling with pride. “You’ve made incredible progress.”
“Thanks, Riley,” Brent replied shyly. He was only eight years old, the same age as her nephew Landon, but so talented. A total protege.
“Same time next week?” Riley asked.
“Yes,” Brent nodded, smiling. “See you then.”
After Brent left, she made her way upstairs toward Tiffany’s room. The door was ajar, and she could see her stepdaughter sitting on the bed, shoulders slumped.
She looked upset, Riley thought.
Her heart began to race, concern flooding her chest. What could be wrong?
