My heart hammers against my chest when I touch Chad’s cheek with my forefinger. “I’m so proud of you. You’ve become the maestro.” “But that’s not who I am,” he tells me. “I’m the boy who fell in love with you at thirteen, loves you at thirty-three, and who will love you until his last dying breath.” His words burn inside me, like a fire being lit. If I allow it to rise, it will consume me.
