“How could you?” I snap. “He thought you were his friend.”
River has the decency to look ashamed, and his voice reflects his guilt when he responds.
“I know,” he answers. “It is why I am here now. To make amends.”
“There are no amends,” I say. “It’s done. It’s over. The chance for that has passed. There will never be another one again.”
River does not argue me on this point, but instead goes on to say what he came to.
“I have always loved Javi like a brother. I did not do right by him, and for that I am sorry. It is something I will have to live with. But I had my reasons. And I think he would understand, had he been in the same position.”
“You just left,” I say. “You didn’t come to his funeral. There was a funeral. Did you even know that? I had to bury him, alone. Without anyone in the world who loved him. It’s not fair, River. You should have been there.”
“Isabella, I know you are upset. But the reason I have come to you today is not because of Javi.”
I blink and try to make sense of the gravity in his voice. I don’t know what it could be. What could be so serious that isn’t about Javi?
“It’s your father,” he tells me. “Isabella…”
His voice is broken, soft. And only slightly apologetic now.
“I don’t know how to tell you this. But your father is dead. And I am the one who killed him.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
My Bella isbeautiful under the spotlight.
The room is dim. Intimate. The seats are sold out. And it is not like most concerts. There is no screaming. There is no talking. There is complete silence when she takes her place on the bench, and they all hold their breath. Waiting for my angel to sing.
She adjusts the microphone and glances nervously into the crowd before turning away again. She speaks softly at first. Holding a hand over her belly. The place where my child grows inside of her.
“This is a new song,” she says. “It’s called Words Only You Can Hear.”
She looks towards the ceiling and closes her eyes, a solitary tear rolling down her cheek as her fingers begin to roam over the keys.
The music is soft and beautiful, just like Bella. And the words are songs she sang only for me. At Moldavia.
It is the first of many songs. She has been busy in my absence. Busy writing and playing. This show is a time capsule of our journey together, and then hers alone. She sings of her pain those first few months. Her fear.
And then later, her love.
She sings of her anguish when I left her. Of her anger. And then, of her solitude.
The last and final song, she dedicates to her father. But it is not what I expect. It is anguish again. Anguish over his lies, and her questioning who he really was. Torment over the things he did. And I know by the time the music has finished playing that she has learned the truth.
She knows he is dead.
And she knows the parts of me I could never bring myself to tell her about. I don’t know how. But my Bella is smart. She is curious. And in my absence, she has only grown stronger.
The room is still silent. The crowd holds their breath while they wait for her to speak again.
And finally, she rises from the bench. Like a phoenix rising from the flames. Her head held high. Her grief behind her.
She picks up the microphone one last time before the crowd erupts into applause.
“Thank you.”
Chapter Forty-Eight