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Marcella lived by the sea and had a small home with a pretty garden. It was a modest home, but it was hers- all she had left.
Every evening she would sit out on her little balcony overlooking the street that ran along the edge of the beach. Under a million stars she would listen to the music coming from her neighbour’s screechy old phonograph, and she would smile. If the melody was happy, she too felt content. But when the tune turned wistful or melancholy, she would start to think of all the things she always wanted to do but was never able to accomplish.
Marcella’s family had never had much in the way of possessions. Whenever her father had wanted to bring someone home for dinner her mother had always protested; “So are you going to go without your dinner or do you expect me and your children to starve while you feed the neighborhood?” Her mother’s anger always got the upper hand, and her father always walked away, head bowed low, a dreadfully sad look in his eyes that even now made Marcella’s heart ache from the memory.
Marcella was only little back then, but she always had an inkling that maybe her father understood something that her mother did not…
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