Sir, I learned this song from my mommy. The little girl played the piano and the lonely CEO froze. Snow drifted gently through the night sky, each flake catching the glow of street lamps like sparks of quiet magic. On the corner of an old cobblestone street stood a small cafe, its windows glowing amber against the chill of Christmas Eve.

Inside, warm laughter and the clink of mugs blended softly with the smell of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans. A Christmas tree, modest but lovingly decorated with hand tied bows and wooden stars, stood near the fireplace. The cafe wasn’t crowded, just a few couples sipping cocoa, a man reading by the window, and a handful of families waiting out the cold.

It felt like the kind of place where stories lived in the floorboards. The door opened with a soft chime. Daniel Wyatt stepped inside. Tall, sharply dressed in a tailored black coat and gray scarf. He looked like someone who had walked straight out of a Manhattan boardroom. And in many ways, he had. At 32, Daniel was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar tech firm.

He had just left a company gala filled with chandeliers, champagne, and hollow small talk. He hated every second of it. This cafe, quiet, imperfect, was a welcome refuge, a pause in a life filled with noise and numbers. He ordered a coffee and sat near the back, folding his hands together, staring through the fogged window into the snowy dark.

That was when he heard it. The first few notes were soft. A piano slightly out of tune, played with care. hesitant fingers, small and uncertain, pressed down on the keys. He turned. Near the Christmas tree, sat a little girl, about five, curly brown hair tied back with a red ribbon. Her red dress fluttered slightly as her feet dangled above the floor.

She played with quiet focus, making up in heart what she lacked in precision. Daniel froze. The song was Winter Glow. He hadn’t heard it in more than a decade. A melody that had never been played publicly, a song that had existed in only one place, in the hands of Grace Carter. She had written it for him when they were 17.

When love still felt infinite, when they believed music could carry them anywhere. She was going to play it for him the first time he saw her on stage. But that day never came. Grace disappeared before her first concert. family illness, a life derailed. No goodbye, no explanation, just silence.

Daniel had tried to find her, but eventually he gave up, buried her song with the rest of the memories. And yet, here it was, alive again through the fingers of a child. When the final note faded into silence, Daniel realized he had stood up. The coffee was forgotten. His heart thutdded in his chest as he walked toward the piano.

The girl smiled at the light applause and took a sip from her cocoa. Daniel crouched beside her gently, trying not to startle her. “That was beautiful,” he said softly. “May I ask, where did you learn that song?” She tilted her head, eyes bright. “From my mommy,” she answered. She said she wrote it when she was in love. Daniel’s breath caught.

His mouth opened, but no words came. He stared at the girl, her joyful grin, the way she held herself with quiet confidence. She looked like no one he knew. Yet something about her tugged at his chest like a familiar melody. The girl took another sip of cocoa, then added cheerfully, “It’s my favorite.” Mommy says, “It makes the snow feel warmer.” Daniel didn’t speak.

Outside, snow kept falling soft and slow. But inside that small cafe, time had stopped. In the echo of a forgotten melody, in the words of a child who didn’t know the weight of what she carried, Daniel felt something shift. Grace. She was the only one who could have written that song. The only one who knew its every note.

And this child, this brighteyed girl who spoke of music and love as if they were the same thing, she was her daughter. Daniel stood slowly, eyes still on the girl. There was only one possibility. Grace Carter had never forgotten him. And now, neither would he. Daniel remained frozen, the child’s words echoing in his mind like a song that refused to end.

My mommy is Grace. He knelt beside the little girl again, studying her more closely now. the soft curls framing her face. The shape of her eyes, the dimples that appeared when she smiled. Once he noticed it, he couldn’t unsee it. There was something familiar there. A spark of someone he once knew.

“What’s your name?” he asked gently. The girl grinned. “Ellie.” She said it proudly like her name mattered. Then she added without pause. “I’m 5 and a half. I play piano with mommy and I really really like marshmallows in my cocoa. Daniel smiled despite himself. And your mommy? He said carefully. She’s the one who taught you that song. Ellie nodded.

Winter glow. Mommy says she wrote it for someone a long time ago. Daniel’s breath caught again. Before he could respond, a voice called from behind the counter, warm and familiar. Ellie, sweetheart, it’s time to put yourcoat on. We’re closing soon. He turned and the world tilted. Grace. She stepped out from behind the espresso machine, wiping her hands on a towel.

There was a dusting of flour and cocoa powder on her sleeves. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a low ponytail, loose strands curling around her cheeks. She wore a faded green sweater and dark jeans marked with the evidence of a long shift. She looked nothing like the girl he remembered and everything like the woman she had become. Their eyes met.

For a moment, the cafe vanished. 10 years collapsed into seconds. Campus benches. Rainy nights sharing headphones. Summers filled with promises. The day she disappeared without a word. Daniel stood slowly. The air between them felt heavy. Grace didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. Her face revealed nothing. Finally, she spoke.

Her voice lower now, steadier, but unmistakably hers. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” she said. After a pause, she added, “Especially here,” Daniel tried to speak. An apology, a question, something meaningful. But the words he had rehearsed for years scattered before they reached his mouth.

Grace stepped forward and bent beside Ellie, who had begun humming to herself, unaware of the tension around her. “Go get your coat, love,” Grace said gently, brushing a crumb from her daughter’s cheek. Ellie skipped toward the coat rack. Grace straightened, crossing her arms loosely. “You look different.

” So, do you, Daniel said, his voice finally steady. I didn’t know. I had no idea you had a daughter. You weren’t supposed to, she replied. There was no anger in her eyes. Just history. You left, Daniel said quietly. No calls, no letters. I searched for you for months. Grace looked down, then back up. I know, and I’m sorry.

There was a lot happening, more than I could handle back then. He waited, hoping she would say more. She didn’t. Instead, she glanced toward Ellie, now struggling with mismatched mittens. I work weekends here, Grace said softly. Barista during the day, music at night. It’s not much, but Ellie loves it.

Daniel followed her gaze. The way she watched her daughter was fierce and gentle all at once. She’s amazing, he said. Grace smiled just a little. She is. Daniel took a breath. I’d like to catch up sometime if that’s okay. Grace studied him, then nodded once. Maybe. Ellie ran back one mitten crooked, giggling.

She grabbed Grace’s hand, then turned to Daniel and whispered, “I think mommy smiled. She doesn’t do that much.” She winked like it was a secret. Daniel laughed softly, something warm stirring in his chest. Grace met his eyes. Good night, Daniel. Good night, Grace. They left together. But something had opened. Not just a memory, a beginning.

The snow had stopped falling. Daniel sat alone on a park bench the following evening. A paper cup of lukewarm coffee between his hands. The street lamps flickered on one by one, casting a warm glow on the sidewalk, but his mind was far from the present. He could still hear Grace’s voice.

I didn’t expect to see you again, especially here. It had been 10 years, a decade filled with headlines, promotions, cities, and silence. And suddenly, with the sound of a child’s piano and a name spoken in innocence, it all came crashing back. He closed his eyes, and the memories returned. They had met on campus, two music kids with different dreams, but the same rhythm.

Grace with her notebooks full of lyrics and half-written piano melodies. Daniel with his guitar, always a little out of tune, but full of soul. She used to sit on the library steps in the fall, humming songs she hadn’t finished, and he would play along beside her. It was easy with her, effortless.

They talked about going to New York together. She’d study composition. He’d study sound engineering. They planned it all. Where they’d live, what ramen brand they’d survive on, the album they’d write together someday. He had never loved anyone like that. And then one day, she was gone. No goodbye, no letter, no closure, just gone.

He remembered calling her over and over, leaving voicemails, sending emails, showing up at her apartment, only to find it empty. Friends said she had gone home for family stuff. No one knew more, and eventually he stopped asking, or at least he pretended to. Back in the present, Daniel rubbed his face and stared up at the sky.

The stars were faint above the city haze. He now knew what she never got to say. Grace had left because her mother was dying. Stage four cancer. Everything fell apart overnight. Hospital bills, caretaking, emotional collapse. At just 19, Grace had become her mother’s full-time nurse. She hadn’t wanted to drag Daniel into that world.

She hadn’t wanted him to lose everything they dreamed of. So, she disappeared. By the time her mother passed, Grace was no longer the girl who sat on library steps. She was tired, she was grieving, and she was alone. Then came Ellie, a relationship that didn’t last, a man who left the moment Grace said she waskeeping the baby.

And so, she raised Ellie by herself. She wrote jingles for local ads, played piano at small venues, took shifts as a barista to keep food on the table. She never finished school, but she finished songs, mostly lullabies, bedtime melodies, and one special tune, Winter Glow. She told Ellie it was a love song, but she never told her who it was for.

Daniel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, breath visible in the cold air. He didn’t know what hurt more. That she had gone without a word or that she had suffered alone, thinking he wouldn’t have stayed. Maybe he wouldn’t have. At 19, maybe he wasn’t ready. But now, watching her hold Ellie’s hand.

Now, he wished he had fought harder. And Ellie, this tiny girl who played music with brave fingers and smiled like the sun, she wasn’t his daughter. She didn’t carry his name, but something about her made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He remembered how she looked up at him and said, “Mommy says it makes the snow feel warmer.

He didn’t know if Grace would ever let him in again.” But he knew one thing for sure. He didn’t want to walk away. Not this time. Not from the woman who taught him what love sounded like. and not from the little girl who brought it all back with one imperfect, unforgettable song. Daniel returned the following Saturday. He came quietly, sitting at the same corner table near the piano.

No fanfare, no suit, just a wool coat, jeans, and the soft scent of winter still clinging to him. He ordered hot cocoa, not coffee, and stayed until closing, listening. Ellie didn’t play perfectly. Sometimes she hit the wrong notes. Sometimes she lost her place. But her tiny fingers always kept going and her face never lost its wonder.

From her place on the bench, Ellie would glance toward him as if checking to make sure he was still listening. He always was. Later that night, while washing dishes behind the cafe counter, Ellie asked Grace innocently, “Mommy, why does that man look at the piano like it’s telling a story he forgot?” Grace didn’t answer.

But every time Daniel came back, he left a note, folded neatly, resting on the piano lid. “Thank you for the music, Ellie.” One snowy evening, Daniel arrived a little earlier than usual. Through the frosted window, he saw Ellie struggling at a small table near the back. She was redrawing sheet music from memory, her pencil broken, her paper torn and wrinkled from erasing too much.

That night, he came back again, not for coffee. He returned with a wrapped box of pastel colored drawing supplies, soft crayons, fresh paper, and a simple note tucked inside. for the artist who sees music in colors. The next day, Ellie opened it and gasped. Her fingers hovered over the orange crayon, then clutched it like treasure.

She turned to Grace, her voice barely above a whisper. He knew I like orange more than red. I never told anyone that. Grace looked down, blinking. Daniel hadn’t just seen Ellie. He had listened. A week later, Grace invited him to walk Ellie home from her music lesson. The snow had just begun to fall again. Ellie danced between footprints, catching flakes on her gloves, giggling as she hopped in Daniel’s shadow.

Then, mids skip, she turned to him and asked, “Do you have a daughter?” Daniel hesitated. “No,” he said slowly. “But I knew a little girl once. She used to love snow, too.” Ellie paused, then nodded, satisfied. Okay, then you can walk with me. I’ll share my snow. From behind, Grace smiled quietly.

Her daughter never asked about family in the traditional sense. She defined closeness by presence, by who showed up and stayed when the world turned cold. And Daniel was still here. That night, as they approached the cafe again, Ellie looked up and asked something else. So simple, yet so sharp it stopped Daniel in his tracks. “If mommy wrote a song for you and you weren’t there to hear it, do you think the song felt sad?” He said nothing.

He couldn’t. Grace placed a hand gently on Ellie’s shoulder and led her inside, but Daniel stayed standing outside long after they were gone. That question followed him all the way home. He didn’t sleep. Instead, he dug through an old hard drive until he found them. Emails from Grace, voice memos, raw audio files she had once sent in hope.

He played everyone, headphones on, head bowed, whispering apologies into the quiet. The next weekend, Grace unlocked the cafe early and found a surprise waiting. Near the piano corner stood an upright piano, old but beautifully restored, with polished wood and ivory keys gleaming under the light. A handwritten card rested on the bench for the little pianist with the brave hands.

D W Ellie let out a squeal of delight. She ran to the piano, tracing its surface with wide eyes, then climbed onto the bench and touched the keys with something close to reverence. She turned to Grace, her voice full of awe. Mommy, I think Mr. Daniel is the person who keeps dreams safe. Grace felt her chest tighten.

Shewatched Daniel from across the room, standing near the window, hands in his coat pockets, saying nothing, just watching. He wasn’t the boy who vanished when things got hard. He was the man who returned quietly, bringing music back with him. She didn’t call him a memory anymore. Not after that. That afternoon, Ellie played Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star on the new piano.

Her small hands trembling with excitement. Daniel stood at the corner table listening. His lips moved in silence. Thank you for letting me come back this way. It began with a fever. Ellie had been a little tired after school, then warm to the touch during dinner. Grace wrapped her in blankets and gave her water, hoping it would pass by morning.

By midnight, Ellie was burning up. Her breathing grew shallow, her eyes glassy. Grace pressed cold compresses to her daughter’s forehead with shaking hands, whispering, “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.” Over and over. But she knew this wasn’t something she could handle on her own. She called every clinic nearby. The public hospital was full.

The nearest private facility had an opening, but the admission fee alone was more than her rent. Grace paced the apartment, heart pounding, watching Ellie’s tiny chest rise and fall too quickly. Her phone trembled in her hands. She didn’t know she had messaged Daniel. The text was halfwritten, never sent, just his name in the contact list.

Somehow, it had gone through. When the knock came at the door, it felt like a dream. Daniel stood in the hallway, dressed in a dark sweater and coat, his eyes steady. He didn’t ask questions. He simply stepped inside, scooped Ellie gently into his arms, and said, “Let’s go.” Grace followed without a word. The drive was silent, except for the soft sound of Ellie breathing in the back seat, wrapped in Daniel’s coat.

Grace sat beside her, holding her hand. When they arrived at the hospital, Daniel carried Ellie through the sliding glass doors. A nurse led them straight to pediatric care, bypassing the front desk. Within minutes, Ellie was stabilized. She had a respiratory infection, treatable, but serious enough to require overnight monitoring.

Grace stood by the hospital bed, brushing Ellie’s curls away from her forehead, her lips trembling. When the doctor stepped outside and mentioned the cost of a two night stay plus treatment, her stomach dropped. She looked at Daniel. I can’t. He didn’t let her finish. Let me do this, he said quietly. Not for you, for her. No conditions.

The way he said it so soft and certain cracked something inside her. The tears came fast without warning. She pressed her sleeve to her face and nodded. unable to speak. Hours passed. In the quiet hallway, Grace finally dozed off in one of the hard plastic chairs, knees tucked under her, head against the wall. Daniel sat a few seats away, arms folded, lost in thought. Then he noticed her shivering.

He stood slowly removed his suit jacket and walked over. Carefully without waking her, he draped it across her shoulders. His movements were gentle. respectful. A nearby nurse returning from rounds saw the moment. She paused, watching the scene unfold like a silent movie. Then she smiled to herself and whispered to no one in particular.

People still write love stories. They just live them first. Daniel didn’t hear her. He was too focused on the two people asleep in front of him. A mother and her child. A woman he had once loved in a different lifetime. and a little girl who without even knowing had reminded him what it meant to show up. Not with grand gestures, but with quiet presence.

Not for applause, not for recognition, just because it mattered. That night, he didn’t leave. He stayed in the waiting room until morning, one hand resting near the armrest of Grace’s chair, close enough to steady it if she stirred. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t dramatic. It was real. And for the first time in years, Daniel didn’t feel like a man frozen in time.

He felt warm, like maybe this was what love looked like now. The snow had melted by late January, leaving behind slush and gray skies. Inside the cafe, Grace wiped down the tables as Ellie practiced quietly at the upright piano Daniel had gifted weeks before. The familiar melody of winter glow drifted softly through the room, uneven but heartfelt.

Daniel arrived just before closing, as he always did now. He brought tea, a book for Ellie, and that quiet presence Grace had come to rely on more than she wanted to admit. But something was different that day. Grace had received an email that morning from an old college friend now working in the music industry. Attached to the email was a forwarded chain, one that included her name, a demo she had recorded 5 years ago, and a rejection from Wyatt Media Group from Daniel’s company.

Her hands trembled as she read the words, “This doesn’t align with current branding, not recommended for further review.” The email was dated just a few months after she had finallyworked up the courage to try again, to believe in music in herself. She had sent the demo without her name attached, just initials, hoping the work would speak for itself, and she had received silence until now. Now she knew why.

She didn’t say anything when Daniel walked in. Not at first, but as he leaned down to say hello to Ellie, Grace’s voice, brittle and sharp, broke the air. Did you even listen to it? Daniel turned. What? my song. The one I sent to your company 5 years ago. Her eyes burned. Did you even listen before you rejected it? He looked stunned.

Grace, I don’t know what you’re talking about. She moved around the counter and pulled the printed email from her pocket, unfolding it with shaking hands. She handed it to him, her jaw tight. He read in silence. That demo came from me, she said. I didn’t use my name. I didn’t want favors. I just wanted the music to matter.

Daniel looked up slowly, confusion clouding his face. This wasn’t from me. I never saw this. You’re the CEO, she snapped. Your name is on every letter head. Your approval is the one that matters. I understand that, he said calmly. But this this must have gone through the submissions team. I never heard it, Grace. I swear.

She laughed dry and bitter. You walked away once already. You left when I needed someone. And now I find out you turned your back on the only part of me I still believed in. His expression tightened. I didn’t turn my back. You left without a word. My mother was dying, she shouted. I didn’t have the luxury of explaining myself.

I had to choose between staying with you or being with the only family I had left. Daniel stood very still, paper crumpling slightly in his grip. I waited, he said quietly. I called, I emailed, I even drove to your dorm. You were gone. Silence pressed between them, sharp as ice. Grace’s voice dropped. And now you show up again with gifts and kind words.

And for a moment I thought, maybe you’d changed. Maybe we both had. Daniel stepped forward, gently laying the paper on the counter between them. I have changed. I lost more than you know, but I never stopped wondering where you went. I never stopped listening for your voice and everything I heard. She didn’t respond.

Her shoulders rose and fell with quiet, controlled breaths. You walked away once, she said finally. I can’t let you walk in and out again. Not around Ellie. Not around me. Daniel’s mouth opened, but no words came. Then softly, he said, “Then let me stay, please. This time, I won’t leave.” Ellie, watching quietly from her bench, pressed a soft key on the piano.

A single note that rang out, sharp and lonely. Neither adult moved, but something shifted in the silence. A cord struck. A wall cracked. The cafe shimmerred with soft golden lights. Garlands lined the walls. Snowflake cutouts hung from the windows. And the smell of cinnamon and cocoa filled the air.

Daniel stood near the back of the room, adjusting the lapel of his dark coat as guests trickled in. The flyer had gone out just a week ago, a Christmas benefit for children and music, hosted by Wyatt Foundation. But the name on the top of the banner, printed in delicate white letters, Ellie’s Piano Fund. Grace hadn’t known until she walked in that evening.

She had agreed to help with the planning, even donated the venue. But the name was Daniel’s idea. No fanfare, no explanation, just quiet acknowledgement of a little girl who played music with brave hands. Guests filled the room. Local families, musicians, even a few press members. A modest event, but full of heart.

A small upright piano had been moved to the front. A velvet stool sat waiting. Ellie clutched her sheet music backstage, her red dress fluttering slightly with nerves. Grace knelt beside her, smoothing down a loose curl. You don’t have to play if you’re scared, she whispered. I’m not scared, Ellie replied. It’s mommy’s song. I want everyone to hear what love sounds like.

Grace’s throat tightened. Daniel stood by the side curtain. When Ellie saw him, she gave a little wave. He smiled just enough for her to see. The room quieted as Ellie walked out. Small shoes tapping on the wooden floor. She climbed onto the bench, adjusted the sheet, and turned to the audience. My name is Ellie, she said clearly.

My mommy wrote this song when she was in love. I think she is again. A quiet ripple of laughter and soft gasps moved through the room. Grace, standing frozen in the wings, covered her mouth with her hand. Daniel stared ahead, his eyes blinking quickly. Ellie placed her fingers on the keys. The first few notes of winter glow rang out, hesitant, then stronger, carrying the emotion of the room on her small shoulders. No one spoke.

The room held its breath. She played through the final notes, then looked up proud and flushed. The applause was instant and Grace ran forward to wrap her daughter in a hug. Later that night, after the guests had gone and the decorations had started to come down, Daniel found Grace sitting atthe counter sipping lukewarm cocoa.

She didn’t move when he approached. He slid a folder onto the table beside her. “What’s this?” she asked. “A proposal,” he said. “The foundation setting up a new arts program for underprivileged kids. We need someone who actually knows what it’s like to keep playing when the world says stop.

She opened the folder slowly. Program director, she read. He nodded. You’d be perfect. She closed the folder. Are you offering this because you love me? She asked softly. No, Daniel said. I’m offering it because you earned it. Because the world needs more people like you leading it. She looked at him for a long moment.

then finally whispered, “Okay.” Outside, snow began to fall again. Through the window, they watched Ellie twirl beneath the lights, her red dress spinning, catching snowflakes on her tongue. “She’s something else,” Daniel said. “She is,” Grace replied, her voice full of quiet pride. And as they stood side by side, not touching, not speaking, just watching that small joyful figure dance in the snow, something settled between them.

Not just forgiveness, not just possibility, but a choice. They had both been broken. But tonight, they chose to be whole together. It was Christmas Eve. One year later, the cafe on the corner no longer looked like a hidden gem. Golden lights wrapped around its windows. A tall pine tree stood by the door, trimmed with handmade ornaments. And beside the piano sat a wooden sign.

Ellie’s piano, a gift of hope. Inside, warmth filled the air. The scent of cinnamon and fresh muffins lingered. Children gathered around a small stage where Ellie, now six, patiently guided a younger child through a simple melody. That’s okay, she encouraged, fingers tapping the keys. Try again. Just like mommy taught me.

Behind the counter, Grace placed cocoa mugs on a tray, her long blonde hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She didn’t tie it up anymore. Something in her head had softened, her steps lighter, her smile easy and unguarded. Then the door opened. Daniel walked in. not in a suit, not checking his phone, but wearing a deep red sweater, holding a tin of slightly messy cookies covered in frosting and candy buttons.

Ellie saw him first. Her eyes lit up. “Daddy’s here,” she called, running into his arms. He scooped her up, spinning her once before hugging her close. “Merry Christmas, my girl,” he whispered, kissing her hair. No one flinched at the word daddy. There had been no grand reveal, no paperwork, just time, choice, and love.

Grace walked over, smiling as she dried her hands. She touched Daniel’s shoulder gently. “I was wondering where my two bakers ran off to this morning,” she teased. “We had a frosting emergency,” Daniel said, grinning. They walked toward the Christmas tree together. Ellie ran ahead, pulling out the final ornament, a clear globe with a small photo inside.

Mommy, look. Inside was a picture taken at the recent recital. Grace holding Ellie’s hand, Daniel’s arm around them both. Ellie reached up, hanging it near the top. There, she said proudly. Now the tree is perfect. Grace leaned toward Daniel, her voice soft. I thought I lost everything. Daniel’s eyes held hers.

I found more than I ever hoped for. He took her hand and she didn’t pull away. I just needed someone to play the music again. Later that night, after the cafe had closed and snow had begun to fall, Daniel knelt beside Ellie and pulled a small velvet box from his coat. Her eyes widened. What is it? He opened the lid.

Inside was a tiny music box. He wound it gently. The first notes of Winter Glow began to play, not Grace’s version, but Ellie’s. She had recorded it a month ago, secretly, with Grace helping during quiet mornings. Daniel smiled. Will you play this song with us every Christmas for our family? Ellie nodded eagerly.

Only if mommy sings with me. Grace laughed, eyes glistening. Deal? They stepped outside together into the gentle snowfall. No cameras, no headlines, just boots crunching on snow. Ellie’s laughter echoing as she twirled beneath the lights. They walked hand in hand, Daniel in the middle, Ellie swinging their arms, Grace leaning into him as she softly hummed the last bars of her song.

No one passing by would have guessed who he was. No one would have known their pain, but everyone would have seen this. A family, not perfect, not expected, but true. And under the glow of a quiet street, with snowflakes dancing in the light, love walked home with them. Thank you for spending time with us on this heartfelt journey of love, memory, and the quiet magic of second chances.

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Until then, staykind, stay present, and remember, sometimes a simple melody can bring someone home.