My mother died when I was 14. Cancer took her slowly, painfully. Yet every Sunday morning, even when she was too weak for much else, she played her piano.
It was an upright Steinway—dark mahogany, ivory keys, carved legs like something from a film. She played jazz, old standards, bits of classical. I’d sit on the rug with my cereal, listening. That piano wasn’t just furniture; it was her voice, her presence.
At her funeral, when people asked what I wanted to keep, I didn’t care about jewelry or clothes. I said, “The piano. That’s all I want.” Dad promised it was mine. Later, I saw it written in the will.
For a while, the piano stayed in the living room, a promise kept. Then Dad met Tracy when I was 16. She breezed in with her blonde hair, peppermint mocha scent, and loud laugh. She had a daughter, Madison—same age as me, polished and perfect.
Her first words to me? “You kinda look like a homeless Taylor Swift.” That set the tone.
When Dad married Tracy, things shifted fast. She rearranged the house, cleaned out drawers, and soon Mom’s photos vanished—replaced by glossy shots of Tracy and Dad in Cabo, Aspen, or matching Christmas sweaters. Mom’s cookbooks disappeared. Her scarves too. But the piano remained, untouched.
I left for college, needing distance. Home no longer felt like home. Months later, during spring break, I returned—bags in hand, craving normalcy.
I walked into the living room. The piano was gone. Not moved. Not covered. Gone.
Only a faint outline in the carpet remained, dust where the pedals had been. My heart pounded. “Dad? Where’s the piano?”
From the kitchen, Tracy’s voice floated: “Oh, that old thing? I had it hauled away. Falling apart.”
That piano was legally mine. Tracy hadn’t just “hauled it away”—she sold it. Her goal was clear: erase every trace of my mother. But spite has a price.
What she didn’t know? The piano was an antique Steinway worth thousands. When Dad discovered the truth, her scheme unraveled. The betrayal wasn’t just emotional—it was financial.
Tracy’s attempt to erase my mother’s memory ended up erasing her own credibility. Karma hit harder than she ever expected.
