But I have already done that. About a thousand times. "She doesn't answer," I reply, crestfallen.
"Doesn't she love me anymore?" Tears gather in her eyes.
"No, my dear," I hurriedly say, pulling her close. "It has nothing to do with you. It's my fault."
"Were you mean to her?" Her expression darkens.
I shrug. Was I? "Maybe." I can't come up with a better answer to her question. It's not enough, I know.
"When you're mean to someone, you have to apologize," Sophia responds eagerly, wagging her finger.
Lovingly, I gaze at her flushed cheeks. I wish it were that simple. "She doesn't want to hear my apologies."
My little one pushes away from me and raises her index finger in a teacher-like manner. "Then you have to say them in a way that Maya has to listen."
I already know that. I have been pondering how to make it work for days. Clearly, continuing to send her messages is not the solution. I need something better.
Once again I start to contemplate. Next week, my tour will culminate at the International Music Awards in Rome. Everything will come to an end there. I will either fail or succeed. But regardless of what happens, all the pressure that has weighed on me for so many years will vanish. I will be free afterward.
But will Maya really listen to me if I stand at her door the following day, to prove to her that her father and I have nothing in common? Words have always failed me. There's no reason it should suddenly be different.
But what if I let the music speak for me? What would happen if I played with all my heart and soul for her?
Inevitably, a smile spreads across my face.
"Don't worry, my darling. I won't give up," I say absentmindedly to my daughter. Because suddenly, an idea emerges within me, a way to reach Maya after all.
