“You love my grandson. Everyone does. I understand why. This hall here.” He looks around, his blue eyes appreciating the concert hall. “This is where the greats have performed. Only a few are great while the rest,” he says, pointing to me, “are there for the ride. The greatness you love in Chadwick is one you’ll never have. That’s why you love him.” Each word is a slap to my face. “Chadwick is our Mozart and you, my dear, are Salieri.” His voice is chilling and unaffected. His words wound me, slicing to the bone.
Instant throat punch
