The Question That Cut Through Crystal
The ballroom shimmered with wealth — crystal clinked, laughter drifted, and a string quartet played polite notes beneath chandeliers.
Then a small voice pierced the noise.
“May I play… for food?”
A young girl stood in the doorway clutching a torn backpack. Her name was Amelia. Twelve. Dust on her shoes. Her eyes locked on the grand piano like it was land after an endless swim.
