She had no intention of repeating confidential dinner conversations beyond what was necessary to address her own treatment.
She simply wanted people to know that the center was real.
It wasn't an abandoned building.
It wasn't a sentimental obstruction to progress.
And it wasn't an excuse she'd invented after receiving attention online.
Evelyn suggested preparing a short statement with Sun-hee and the center's board.
Nia agreed.
Then she returned to work.
For the rest of the evening, she carried trays, explained dishes, and smiled politely at guests who recognized her.
The world seemed determined to turn her into a symbol.
But she still had a job to do.
Two days later, Denise watched the video.
Nia hadn't shown it to her mother because she feared the public humiliation would upset her.
But Malik found a version that included more of the conversation and played it while they were sitting together in the living room.
Denise watched silently.
She saw Holloway write the check.
Heard his mocking tone.
And watched her daughter stand beside the table with her hands folded carefully in front of her.
Then the song began.
Denise's eyes filled.
When the video ended, she remained quiet for almost a minute.
Nia sat beside her.
"Mom?"
Her mother looked toward her.
"You were scared."
Nia tried to smile.
"A little."
Denise shook her head.
"I know that face."
For a moment, Nia laughed through sudden tears.
Her mother reached for her hand.
Then she spoke slowly.
"You don't have to prove anything to people who don't want to see you."
Nia looked down.
"I know."
Denise squeezed her hand.
"But if you decide to sing, do it because the song belongs to you."
The words stayed with Nia.
Her mother had spent decades teaching children who believed they weren't talented enough to perform.
Some were shy.
Some had difficult family circumstances.
Others had been told their voices didn't matter.
Denise never promised them fame.
She taught them that music wasn't reserved for the people who could afford expensive instruments or prestigious schools.
It belonged to anyone willing to listen and learn.
Nia looked toward the video.
For years, she'd treated her ability to sing as something private.
Now strangers were telling her it could make her rich.
But her mother was reminding her of the reason she'd loved music before anyone attached money to it.
At East River Music House, the children had their own opinions about the video.
Nia arrived for Saturday's class to discover a group of teenagers waiting near the piano.