I had dreams, and at that moment, they all shattered because I knew they’d never come true. Whatever innocence may have existed in me died that night. Beneath the weight of my father’s wrath, I quickly came to understand my role in life. I came to understand that I was nothing more than a decorative chess piece for him to control. To move around the board as he pleased.

I mourned for the loss of the things I wanted, and he beat me savagely for it. For every tear I shed, he returned it with the crack of his belt so violently, it split my skin and flayed me wide open. But that didn’t stop him. It only seemed to make him angrier, as if I should show such a weakness. As if a De La Rosa could ever bleed.

By the time he finished, I couldn’t move. He left me sobbing on the floor of the chapel, too broken to ever be whole again. Antonia was the one who found me, and I was grateful for it. She cleaned my wounds, stitched me up, and tended to me for weeks while I recovered. During that time, my father took my mother to Barcelona so she wouldn’t see what he had done. My brothers were away at school, and when they returned, they’d be none the wiser. The implication was clear. My father never explicitly told me not to say anything, but then he didn’t have to. If I had, that would have proven how weak I was.

So I kept it in. I shut my emotions off. And I learned to toe the line of being who I was always meant to while hiding my truest self whenever I was in his shadow. I played the piano. I honed my craft. And I perfected every challenge he threw my way until the day he died.

But once he was gone, I swore I’d never play again. Until Judge asked me to. At first, I was angry. I was grief-stricken, and not just for my family or the memories that stirred when I associated them with my performances. I was also grieving for the loss of myself. The little girl who wanted to choose her own path.

I told Judge no that first day and many more days after that. Until one night, I couldn’t sleep, and I was wandering the house when I came upon the piano by myself. When I glared down at the offending keys, I realized the only person I was punishing was me. Because truth be told, I had enjoyed it once. I had loved the way my fingers flew over the ivory, whipping into a frenzy as my body swayed with the music. There had been a time before the pain when it had brought me pleasure. That night, I told myself I would only do it once, for old times’ sake.