six years later

"I want to play Daddy's guitar!" he shouted from his place next to me.

"Teddy, you don't even know how to play a guitar," I reminded him gently.

It was then I looked up and caught Adam's eye, allowing myself to smile.

We had named him after my little brother because we wanted to give back to my brother the life he never had - the life that had been taken away from him nine years ago, along with the lives of my parents too. He would've been around 17 now, the age I was when the accident happened.

During the first few days, I felt like my life had ended there too. Without my family, I felt like no one. I wanted to be no one. I wanted to be one with my music.

One with Adam.

And though time found its way to keep us apart for three whole years, six years ago, New York had changed that for me. I don't care who agreed that Paris was the most romantic city in the world. For me, it would always be New York.

After his tour of 67 nights, Adam did just as he insisted on doing. He quit the band. And no matter how much he says he didn't give up on it because of me, I will always be convinced that I was part of the reason. Maybe seeing me was a wake-up call to him. About everything he was doing to himself.

We never spoke of it. Adam had said he needed to take a break, to remember what the music really was to him. He had said the fame of Shooting Star had taken music away from him, changed it, and gave it back to him in an unrecognizable form.

It was nice to look at him from across the table, and see him happy.

He was there at every concert of mine during my tour, and it was like with him being there, playing the cello didn't just feel like an out-of-body experience. It felt like time was in my hands. That I controlled the moment, and made it worth living not just for me, but for everyone, including him – especially him.

We lived in my apartment in New York for a year and a half. Adam started to make a name for himself again, but it was never again like his Shooting Star days. Exactly what he wanted.

After that year and a half, we went back to Oregon to visit everyone. And that was when he proposed. We had our wedding in Oregon, because in the end, that was our home - the place that brought us together and helped our music come to life.

Before we knew it, we moved back home for good.

Faith would have it, Adam and I became music teachers at the very high school where we had met. And when we had a young student walk into our room with a cello in hand one day, Adam strode over to me, to squeeze my hand.

A few months into our job, Teddy was born. He was four now, and everything we had hoped he'd be. Naturally he had picked up our love for music. And it was almost perfect how both my classical music and his father's so-called "emocore" were his favorite genres, despite the fact that the two could not have been more different. In fact, we were his favorite musicians. His smile was widest when Adam pulled out his old Les Paul Junior and I my cello, and we jammed together.

And that was where we got the idea. To play together for everyone. It was almost by accident how that became a career, but well, it did.

We had Adam's old manager from his band-days manage us. And we became a musical duo. Adam and Mia Wilde. We took the music world by storm. Fans of my music and fans of his Shooting Star work came together to enjoy us. It was perfect.

We took Teddy with us everywhere, of course.

Kim had ended up becoming a photographer with the New York Times – she became quite renowned for her work. Every time we had a concert, Adam and I, we specifically requested Kim to take the pictures. Not just because she'd make sure she got us at flattering angles, but because it felt so good to all be in this together.

She got married three months ago to a nice Jewish guy named Chris, perfect for the nice Jewish girl she was. Her mom hadn't gone ballistic for once. Kim had met him at work – he was the guy who printed all the pictures she took. In a way, the whole thing was so predictable I couldn't even believe it. Kim and Chris were going to come over tomorrow, to show us some of the latest photographs before they hit the papers. I couldn't wait.

I looked up from my reverie to notice that Adam had slipped away. I thought about getting up to find him when I saw his shadow coming back from the hall.

He was holding a box.

He picked up Teddy and grabbed my hand and led us to the living room. He set the box down on the table in front of us, and Teddy lifted the cover.

It was a toy guitar!

Teddy picked it up and started rocking out immediately, calling his father to get his guitar, nudging me to get my cello. And for once, we jammed as a family.

"You know, Mia, when we're 35 and open up that café, make sure you, me, and Teddy are the opening act," Adam said.

I laughed. Adam and I had made this plan to open up a café as a joke, one night back in New York. We had said we'd quit music at the age of 35, and open up a café that would totally rival Starbucks, and we'd have it be a place for breakout performers. Maybe we were serious, maybe we weren't. Time would tell. I liked his idea though. Performing as a family. We wouldn't be the Jackson Five, of course – but we'd be something.

Family. Nine years ago, after the accident, I thought I didn't have that anymore. It took me a while, but I realized why I stayed. For everyone else, who wasn't my family by blood, but my family because I had chosen to make them mean that much to me. Gran and Gramps, Adam's parents, Mrs. Schlein, Kim, Willow and Henry and their son Theo, who was now thirteen. They were my family. They would never replace Kat, Denny, and Teddy Hall, because they could never be Kat, Denny, and Teddy Hall. But that was okay. I knew my parents would have approved of my decision to stay. They would want to see me happy and successful – not moping over them. In everything I did, I hoped I did them proud.

And when I looked over at Adam and caught his eye in the middle of our jam session, and ruffled Teddy's hair, I knew I had done that. I had done more of that.

By staying and making my presence in this world known, I had made myself proud.