ZAIJIAN HILLS
I had imagined this day more times than I was willing to admit.
Acir’s last day of her community service at the Home Center. The last time she would have to sit in that familiar chair beneath the old pendant lights, place her fingers over the piano keys, and perform for the residents who had slowly become her friends.
But I hadn’t imagined how difficult it would be to actually watch it happen.
The Home Center felt different that afternoon. Perhaps it was because everyone knew it was Acir’s last day. The usually quiet lounge was livelier than usual. Residents had gathered around the piano, some sitting in their usual chairs while others stood near the back. Susan was seated beside the piano, looking particularly cheerful. Gary was helping arrange the chairs. Melissa was ca
