The Disabled Maestro Is My Judge

It was my seventh autumn in Vienna when I ran into my ex-wife, Savannah Reilly.

She was here accompanying Asher King, her protégé, for the International Piano Competition, and her gaze snagged on the empty sleeve of my right arm.

Asher, the young pianist, offered a too-wide smile and a cheerful, “Hello, Professor Cross,” before deliberately bringing up the fire.

Savannah watched me, her expression a complicated mix of guilt and pity. “Asher didn’t mean it, Alistair. I thought it was just a fracture, I never imagined…”

The wind stole the rest of her words, and I had no interest in hearing them anyway.

My mind was focused on my six-year wedding anniversary with Eliza.

Yet, as I walked past the State Opera House, Savannah caught up to me.

She pressed a ticket into my hand. “Alistair, I know performing at the Golden Hall was your ultimate dream.”

“This ticket cost a fortune.”

“Even though you can never play again, Asher is going to carry that dream forward for you.”

I met her eyes—those eyes full of insufferable pity—and politely pushed the ticket away. “Thank you, but I don’t need it.”

Savannah let out a heavy sigh. “You don’t have to hate me so much.”

I managed a slight smile.

I hadn’t hated her in years.

And I certainly didn’t need to tell her that I was the Head Judge for this very piano competition.

1

“If you don’t hate me, why did you run away and hide in another country?” Savannah wasn’t ready to let go, determined to extract an answer from me.

The late autumn breeze reddened her eyes. This level of investment from her was something I hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Perhaps realizing her lapse in decorum, she softened her tone.

“Can we sit down at a coffee shop? You used to make me a perfect Americano every morning…”

Savannah rattled on, sinking into nostalgia, but I cut her off.

“I don’t recall. My wife only drinks tea.”

Her pupils constricted instantly, her shocked stare drilling into me.

“You’re married? But you always said you would only ever…”

Her voice was shaking when she spoke again.

I nodded and raised my hand, pointing toward the large screen in the plaza where a woman was being interviewed on television.

Savannah stared for a long time, then suddenly laughed out loud.

“Eliza Sinclair, the CEO of the Sinclair Group? Alistair, you’re a terrible liar.”

“A marriage like that, between two major powers, it’s not something you and I would ever be involved in.”

“Besides, you… stop trying to fool me.”

Her gaze dropped from the screen to my empty sleeve, a flicker of genuine distress in her eyes.

She tucked the ticket back into my jacket pocket.

“I know things have been difficult for you since you left.”

“I just want to bring your impossible dream a little closer to reality.”

Watching this woman, so completely convinced of her own narrative, I almost wanted to laugh. I was the Royal Opera House’s Chief Pianist, and my wife was the head of a global conglomerate. And Savannah thought I was struggling?

“Ms. Reilly, we are both married now. Please show some respect.”

I kept my tone even, not wanting to get drawn into a scene, and turned to walk down a different street.

“At least let me drive you home, can I?” Savannah pursued me.

She reached out, but her fingers closed only on my vacant sleeve.

Her eyes instantly welled up.

I found the whole thing utterly pointless. I had no interest in wasting another second on her.

“My driver is coming to collect me now. It’s not necessary, thank you.”

I used my healthy left hand to try and shake Savannah off, but she held on, her grip tight. Sadness churned relentlessly in her eyes.

Until a leather strap came down hard across the back of her hand.

2

“Let go of Al!”

“Police! This woman is harassing him!”

Owen Keller, a film student I’d befriended, put away the stunt prop—a leather flogger he’d been using on set—and shouted.

Nearby security personnel and police officers gripped their sidearms, surrounding us with caution.

Savannah raised her hands, her face pale.

I quickly explained the situation to the police, sparing Savannah the indignity of an arrest. It wasn’t pity; I simply wanted the entanglement to end.

Owen, a student in directing at the University of Vienna, and I had bonded over a performance. This imaginative young guy and I clicked instantly.

In the car, Owen used every colorful American idiom he knew to curse Savannah and her entire lineage.

Once he’d run out of steam, he spoke quietly.

“Al, you know that psycho?”

I told him calmly, “My ex-wife.”

Owen’s eyes widened, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter, as if he were throttling Savannah herself.

“A woman that blind, that ungrateful, who doesn’t know what she has? She deserves to regret this for the rest of her life!”

Finally, Owen leaned in and asked, “We still have a little drive. Got any good gossip? I promise, absolute secrecy.”

I smiled faintly, considered it for a moment, and then nodded.

As my eyes drifted toward the rushing crowds outside, the memories began to flow.

My freshman year in college, I earned all the applause at the talent show with a performance of “Moonlight Sonata.” But two drunk jerks cornered me outside of campus later that night.

“Think you’re so great? My girlfriend left me for you! Now you won’t be stealing anyone else!”

“Love playing piano? I’ll make you a cripple. Let’s see you play then!”

They raised a brick, aimed right for my hand.

That was the moment Savannah charged in, her voice trembling as she screamed, “Let him go! I have a bomb strapped to me!”

The thugs laughed, called her crazy, and pushed her against the wall, reaching for her lewdly. It wasn’t until they tore her shirt that they saw the “timer”—a makeshift toy.

They fled instantly.

I took off my own shirt, wrapped it around Savannah, and took her to the hospital.

She told me she loved watching me play.

She also told me she was writing a novel about divorce. She’d strapped the toy bomb to herself to truly experience the desperation of a main character cornered by an abusive husband. The toy cost her half a month’s living expenses.

It was the first time I realized someone could be so poor—only enough money for instant ramen and day-old bread, sacrificing a month’s savings on a piece of inspiration.

Owen scratched his head. “What did you love about her?”

I thought about it. Was it her artistic talent, her beautiful, cold profile, or those expressive eyes?

Maybe none of that.

It was probably that we both had these blazing, reckless ideals. I wanted to play at the Golden Hall; she wanted to be a world-famous female writer.

And—her courage. Her willingness to bet everything, even when she was stuck in the mud.

From that day on, I used most of my own meager scholarship money to support the struggling writer. Savannah always said I was the only one who truly understood her, and I laughed and said I was the knight sent by fate to protect her.

On a rainy afternoon, Savannah held up a paper rose she’d folded and confessed her love. The affection in her eyes then was absolute, undeniable truth.

“The Little Prince was lost without his rose. I want to cross the entire universe to hold you close now.”

We were a couple—stable for four years, the model of campus romance. Before graduation, she gave me a book of poetry that chronicled our bright, happy youth. My eyes stung with tears, and I truly believed life would be this simple, this beautiful, forever.

Owen opened his music app, and a random song, City Moonlight, began to play.

“Seeing all the human comings and goings, can’t we have more happy moments…”

We sat in silence for a while. At a red light, Owen couldn’t help but ask, “Did things get better for you after graduation?”

I shook my head, unsure how to describe the color of that time.

3

After graduation, I didn’t follow my parents’ plan. I chose to stay in the city with Savannah.

I taught piano at an art school, and Savannah wrote full-time at home. She had no income, but between my salary and the occasional support from my parents, we managed.

Until the family business went under, and my father left a suicide note before taking his own life.

My mother, completely broken, was institutionalized.

I locked myself in our bedroom, crying for days.

Savannah, who was terrible at domestic skills, started trying to cook for me. When I wouldn’t eat, she’d quietly leave the food outside the door, then disappear for the whole day. She would drag her tired, dirty body back to our rented apartment late every night.

One day, I followed her. I found Savannah at a construction site, her slender frame swaying as she hoisted multiple bags of concrete mix onto her shoulder.

I wept uncontrollably. Savannah wiped the grime from her face and smiled, trying to reassure me.

“Dad’s gone, but he’d want you to live well.”

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what.”

“I swear I’m going to take care of you.”

With Savannah’s constant support, I returned to the school. To help pay off the debts my father left, Savannah slept only three hours a night. I also took a side gig playing in a local bar.

When a VIP client in a private room waved ten thousand dollars and demanded I play while naked, I refused instantly. Even though we were only ten thousand dollars away from paying off the last of my father’s debt.

The client laughed and opened a bottle of expensive red wine for me. “If you’re so principled, then drink this bottle and play me a drunk piano piece.”

I looked at the newly uncorked bottle, didn’t think twice, and downed it before starting to play.

When the piece was over, the client applauded enthusiastically, and I was given the ten thousand dollars as promised.

But as I stood up to leave, my body went instantly weak, and I collapsed onto the velvet sofa. The man lunged at me, roughly trying to force himself on me.

“I love defiling artists. Cooperate and I’ll give you twenty thousand more!”

I fought desperately, but he used a drug-soaked cloth to smother me into unconsciousness.

Just as I felt the ultimate despair, Savannah burst into the room and smashed a beer bottle over the man’s head.

“If you touch my boyfriend, I’ll kill you!”

She didn’t stop until the man was completely incapacitated, blood pooling on the floor.

As she was being led into the police car, Savannah smiled and called out to me, “Baby, don’t be sad. I finally got to protect you.”

“With me here, no one will ever hurt you!”

Her face in that moment mirrored the fierce protectiveness from five years ago. Tears blurred my vision. I ran after the police car until I stumbled and fell in the pouring rain.

Fortunately, the police investigation cleared everything up. Savannah’s actions were ruled justified self-defense.

We held each other tight for a long time. Savannah excitedly told me she had news.

“My book is a hit! Companies are fighting over the rights! We don’t have to struggle anymore!”

Immersed in the joy of her success, I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I have something to tell you too.”

“Ms. Savannah Reilly, will you marry me?”

I knelt on one knee, holding up the ring I had been saving for so long.

Later, I poured everything I had into giving Savannah a beautiful, grand wedding. She wore her gown and sobbed through the vows. The handwritten, ten-thousand-word love letter I read at the ceremony made me truly believe we would walk hand-in-hand, forever, in our beautiful, simple life…

The car had unknowingly pulled up to my villa in Vienna’s 19th District.

Owen, still absorbed in the story, asked, “By all accounts, you two should have been happy. How did you break up? Did she cheat…”

4

“Yes. With my student.”

“Oh, Alistair. I’m so sorry.” Owen’s face filled with remorse, instantly regretting his question.

I patted his shoulder and offered a calm smile. It had been so long ago; the wound was just a faint scar now.

After we married, Savannah’s book became a massive success. After collecting every major national award, she stopped writing and founded a cultural company.

I opened my own art school. When I wasn’t teaching, I poured all my energy into daily practice, determined to finally realize my dream of performing at the Golden Hall.

Eighteen-year-old Asher King was my most talented student. His parents had died in a fire, and he lived with his grandmother. I felt for the boy. I waived all his fees and often invited him over for dinner.

The next time Asher showed up, Savannah finally frowned.

“I know you care for your students, Alistair, but bringing him here constantly isn’t appropriate. For one, we don’t know his character, and second, I don’t want our private space disturbed.”

I finally managed to placate her and promised I wouldn’t bring Asher home again. Savannah smiled and kissed my forehead.

How could a woman so focused on boundaries and vigilance turn around and cheat with Asher? I never would have guessed, not until I walked in on them.

The day my mother died of a cerebral hemorrhage, Savannah broke her leg in a fall at the office.

With her cast on, she was insistent about attending the funeral, but I managed to stop her. I promised her I would convey her respect and filial piety to my mother. Savannah, in tears, promised that she would visit my mother the moment she recovered.

After the funeral, I took my mother’s only photograph with me. At the peak of my grief, I received a text from Savannah.

[How is the funeral going? I’ll be there as soon as my leg is better.]

[Alistair, I will face everything with you.]

[I ordered takeout for myself today. Please take care of yourself back home.]

Seeing those warm words on my phone, I burst into tears. Savannah was my only family left in this world.

Thank God, I still had her.

But when I returned to the school with my mother’s photo, I saw a scene I will never forget.

In the half-open practice room, a naked Savannah was straddling Asher, her back glistening in a way that suggested an open, intimate scene that reeked of calculated perversion. They were completely intertwined, oblivious.

I was shaking all over. I rushed in, slapped Asher hard, and grabbed Savannah’s hair, pulling them apart.

“Savannah Reilly, is this your ‘takeout’?”

“I want a divorce!”

One was the student I’d staked my professional reputation on; the other was the woman I loved with my life. I stared at them, the tears of despair streaming down my face.

Savannah knelt on the floor, slapping herself a dozen times, sobbing that she was only confused for a moment.

“Alistair, I swear on my life, it will never happen again!”

Asher rushed to the window, his eyes red. He cried out.

“I’m so sorry, Professor. I just love the Professor’s wife too much.”

“I know that to love someone is to want their happiness. If my death is what it takes to make you two happy, then I’m willing to die.”

Savannah, who had just been begging for forgiveness, instantly rushed over and embraced Asher. The tension in her face was exactly the same as when she had protected me years ago.

During the struggle, Asher knocked over the candles they had been using. They immediately ignited the practice room curtains, and the fire spread like wildfire.

The overhead chandelier chose that moment to crash down, hitting me.

“Alistair, don’t be afraid! I’ll get you out!”

Savannah fought desperately to push the heavy light fixture off me, but her resolve shattered the moment she heard Asher’s desperate cry.

After a brief hesitation—a hesitation that lasted a lifetime—she unflinchingly hoisted Asher onto her back.

“Asher has a severe psychological trauma from fire.”

“Hold on, I’ll be right back for you!”

Savannah’s gaze flickered to mine, and then she was gone. She never came back.

In the choking smoke and raging heat, the intense pain of my shattered humerus was nothing compared to the shards of my broken heart.

I dragged myself out of the fire, but I permanently lost the use of my right hand. My school, which represented countless hours of my heart and soul, was nothing but ash. Marriage, dream, hope—I had lost everything.

Owen, shaking with anger, was about to floor the accelerator and go track Savannah down, but I stopped him.

“How can she and that snake still be considered human? I want to kill them right now!”

“That kind of trash woman should be thrown in prison! You went through hell together; how could she do that to you!”

The usually boisterous guy was red-eyed with rage.

I calmly assured him, “It took a trip through hell to truly see her for who she was.”

“If she hadn’t let go, I would never have met Eliza.”

After the amputation, I signed the divorce papers. Aside from a few apology texts, Savannah never appeared again.

At my lowest point, when all hope was gone, I met Eliza Sinclair. That, however, is a different story.

Owen patted my shoulder, finally offering a relieved smile. “Alistair, I’m glad you’re happy now.”

Owen’s girlfriend texted, rushing him home for her birthday, so we said our goodbyes.

Just as I was about to enter the villa, I heard Savannah shouting from behind me:

“Alistair, you absolutely cannot break in and steal…”