Broken Pianist, Unbreakable Spirit Returns

ith an almost predatory satisfaction. They were a vision of success, a united front, celebrating a triumph built on the foundation of my despa

ran cold, fear and a dawning, terrible realization battlin

rds the phone. "Call him," he hissed, pushing the device

ate hope fluttering in my chest. Ma

shua's voice that answered. It was Giselle. Her voice

," she said, her tone laced with a subtle amusement that

voice raw, "Tell him it's me. Tell

he's really quite busy. We both are. You wouldn't believe the workload since the

takably Joshua' s. Giselle' s voice softened, almost a

distant, muffled, but clear enough. "Tell h

ne wen

g against the concrete floor. Drama. That's

zzling future with Giselle by his side. Over me. Over his fiancée. Over the woman he cla

s now contorted with rage, stared at me as if I were a gh

, no longer careful, no longer hesitant. They began to hurt me, not just physically, but in ways designed to brea

old, corporate statement about not negotiating with terrorists and not

into positions of abject humiliation, threatening to

oshua' s meteoric rise, his unwavering resolv

a joint announcement, their faces grim, but composed. They were officially withdrawing all investments

e me unconditionally, had chosen their reputation, their freedom, over their own daughter. I wasn't just abandoned by my fiancé; I was cast off by my own blood. I wa

mething purely vindictive. They had been lied to, scorned. Their prize, me,

d me with cigarettes, carved words into my skin. They broke my fingers, one by one, ensuring my artistic future, my passion, was forever stolen. I screamed until my voice was

living hell they had trapped me in. A life, a tiny, precious spark of life, extinguished before I even knew it existed. My unbor

imentality. Giselle was always by his side, his shadow, his confidante. Their public appearances became increasingly intimate, their bond undeniable. Th

le and invisible, that covered every inch of my being. An