Marriage Named Hatred Chapter 19
As the international violin competition drew near, Annelise’s life became a straight line between two points.
From the dormitory to the rehearsal hall, from the rehearsal hall back to the dormitory.
She left at seven in the morning and came back at two or three in the early hours, with nothing in between but a cup of hot tea Theodore handed her, and the occasional sandwich she forgot in some corner, long since gone cold.
She threw herself into the sound of the violin.
She threw herself into the sound of the violin.
She had written this piece over three months and revised it countless times.
Every note had been her own—her thrill the first time she held a violin at seven; the silence when she watched him leave hand in hand with Celestine at eighteen; the pain she could not speak on her wedding night at twenty-three; the tears she had cried dry when she lost her child at twenty-eight; and the days after she came alone to Paris, in the rehearsal hall late at night, piecing herself back together bit by bit.
She wrote everything she had into this piece.
Theodore stayed with her every night, helping her set the melody to a piano accompaniment.
He never tried to change anything; he only let the piano carry the violin, like a hand holding it steady.
Sometimes she got stuck on a passage and played it wrong again and again; he stopped and looked at her, saying nothing.
Then she took a deep breath and tried again.
When she got it right, he continued playing.
They did not need to speak; with a glance, with a breath, they knew what the other wanted.
That night, they rehearsed until dawn and finally ran through the entire piece in full.
That night, they rehearsed until dawn and finally ran through the entire piece in full.
When the last note fell, the rehearsal hall stayed quiet for a long time.
Theodore sat at the piano and did not move.
She stood at the center of the stage and did not move either.
Then he rose, walked up to her, and said softly, “This piece will make people cry.”
She looked at him, her eyes stinging a little, but she smiled. “Isn’t that perfect?”
Theodore smiled too. “Come on. Let’s go back early tonight. The competition was the day after tomorrow, and you needed rest.”
She nodded and started packing up, her case set on a chair at the edge of the stage.
She walked over, crouched down, and froze with her hand suspended in midair.
Three strings were snapped, cleanly broken in the middle.
A deep gash scored the body, running from the bridge all the way to the edge of the top plate, like a vicious wound.
She stared, utterly still.
“What is it?” Theodore came over. One look downward, and his expression changed.
“What is it?” Theodore came over. One look downward, and his expression changed.
He crouched and examined the breaks closely—they were not natural fractures; they had been cut.
The gouge on the body, too, had been left by a sharp blade.
He lifted his head and looked at her.
She was still crouching there, staring at the violin without blinking.
Her hand rested against the edge of the case, her knuckles white.
“Anna.” he called her softly.
Annelise did not respond, but her hand kept trembling.
This violin had been bought for her with the money Miriam had saved up.
It had been her most precious possession.
“Anna.” Theodore called again, then took her hand in a steady grip.
“We will figure something out first. The violin can be repaired, and the competition is not over yet.”
At last Annelise reacted. She slowly turned to look at him and nodded hard.