And then, then I would...
Before I can finish the thought, she suddenly lifts her eyelids. Within a fraction of a second, I know that we both feel the same longing at that moment.
We look at each other. I offer her a smile.
She bites her lower lip, her eyes turning sad. Yet she doesn't look away. And she doesn't run away either.
It's as if she's letting go of something at this moment. As if her heart has decided an inner battle for itself, which it has always lost until now.
Now she lifts the corners of her mouth. Slowly, as if in slow motion, that unique radiance appears on her face, a sight I can't get enough of. Out of nowhere, a melody resonates within me, but I don't feel the urge to put it down on sheet music right away. Because I know I won't forget it. Not as long as she's with me.
"Mr. Friedberg?"
Who is speaking here?
I blink back to reality and spot a nurse standing in the middle of the room.
My God. It's happening.
Should I really go through with it? What if something goes wrong? What if I can't play anymore after this?
"Please take a seat," he says in English, pointing at the wheelchair in front of him.
My gaze shifts between him and the means of transportation. "Is it really necessary?"
He shrugs. "Hospital protocol."
Of course. I signal him to wait for a moment. Seeking support, I embrace Sophia one last time.
"We're rooting for you, hoping everything goes well," she says, and it becomes clear to me that it can't be any other way. No matter how the surgery unfolds, at least with Sophia and me, everything will be fine.
"Thank you," I reply, although this small word can't come close to expressing what I'm feeling right now.
Then I tear myself away from my daughter. Because it simply has to be done. Unsteadily, I walk to the nurse and sink into the wheelchair. On our way out, we pass by Maya.
I dare not touch her. She dares not stop me.
"See you later," she murmurs.
How much I would like to ask her to be here when I wake up. And to look at me again, just like she did earlier. But even that takes courage I don't have. So I only say, "See you later," just before I'm out of earshot.
