My Stepmom Secretly Sold the Piano I

A Memory in Music
At fourteen, I lost my mother to cancer—a slow, painful decline that left behind fragments of her: her laugh, her scent, and above all, her music. “Every Sunday, no matter how sick she was, she played her piano.” That piano—a dark mahogany Steinway—became her voice when she could no longer speak. After she passed, I asked for nothing but the piano. “It’s yours, honey. I promise,” Dad said, even writing it into his will.

The Change
Then came Tracy—Dad’s new wife, with “peppermint mocha perfume” and fake cheer. The house changed: Mom’s things vanished, but the piano stayed. I left for college, needing distance. When I returned for spring break, it was gone. “Oh, that old thing? I had it hauled away,” Tracy said. I was shattered. “That was my mother’s piano. It was mine.” Her response? “Come on. Don’t be so dramatic. It wasn’t even yours.”

Reckoning
Dad returned days later. “Where’s the piano?” he asked Tracy. Her smile faded when he revealed, “I hid your birthday present inside the piano… A Cartier necklace. Three thousand dollars.” Tracy panicked, but it was too late. She’d sold the only thing left of my mother. That night, behind closed doors, Dad said, “That piano was hers. And so was my trust. And now both are gone.” By morning, Tracy had left.

A New Beginning
A week later, Dad filed for divorce. “I should’ve protected your mother’s memory better,” he told me. Then, one Sunday, he showed me an old piano in the garage. Not a Steinway. But it had keys. “I know it’s not hers,” he said. “But it’s yours now.” As I played the first few notes, something inside me began to heal. For the first time in years, the music felt like home.