Author's Chapter Notes:

Disclaimer: owns everything, I only make them cry.

Chapters 1 and 2 have been slightly changed with more help from PTB. You guys are amazing, thank you!

I have to thank very very very much my two awesome betas nijiska and robssweetangel, from Project Team Beta. They have been great and very patient with me.

I suggest listening to:

Je suis malade - Lara Fabian

Je t'aime - Lara Fabian

to get into the mood.

Chapter 1: Je suis malade

How hard could it be to actually read the book before writing a damn paper about it? Word processor, people! It has a fucking spell-check tool. Use it! Bella pushed away the midterm paper that was still bleeding from the red markings.

Frustrated, not truly at the papers, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. A deep sigh escaped her throat and her eyes roamed around the den, their den. The desk she was sitting on was rather large and was built to accommodate two people, built just like they had ordered it. It was specially commissioned to follow a design they had made, one that Alice had refined. She ran her fingers at the side of the dark brown wood, only to find them unexpectedly brushing against some etching. The initials! It was Alice's idea, and they had only found out about that after the desk was delivered to their home. They both loved it. Her side had his initials on, 'E.A.M.C.' and his side hers, 'I.M.S.'.

Her eyes instinctively fell upon the baby grand piano resting next to the French doors. Her fingers pressed against the carved letters while her eyes were locked on the piano. The tears burnt her pale cheeks. His absence just felt so palpable that she felt her chest tighten that her breath hitched.

It had been a month and still she could not get used to his absence. No matter how much time passed, she would never be able to live with it; she would still miss him terribly. She didn't know how to live without him, having spent most of their life together. It was torture. She felt sick, completely sick. She wiped her face with her palms and ran her hands through her long brown hair in a futile effort to compose herself.

"God!" She said out loud without fear that someone might hear her. She was alone, absolutely alone in the house, their house. She didn't have to pretend anymore. She could let out all the emotions she had been suppressing in the last month. Every time she walked out the door she put on her happy face and pretended everything was fine. For every phone call from their family or friends she had to use a phony, cheerful voice. It wasn't like she hadn't tried to continue her normal routine. Every morning, she woke up, went to work, taught classes, and smiled at her colleagues. Every day she had to receive congratulations for his success. She put on a brave, happy face and pretended. Pretended that everything was fine; pretended that noting had changed; pretended that she didn't feel a huge hole in her chest.

Bella pushed the chair away from the desk, to give her the space to stand while inhaling deeply. It seemed as if the desk was on fire and she practically ran away from it to the French doors. Usually the sight of the moon – it was a full moon, so beautiful – and the lights of the city calmed her. Even more so if a certain man was playing a soft tune on the piano that was right next to her. Absentmindedly, she reached out and touched the tail of the piano. Smooth. Hard. Cold. His. A shiver ran down her spine, but she couldn't remove her hand from the instrument. It was a connection to him. Slowly, and almost inadvertently, she walked beside it while continuing to run her hands over it, until she found herself in front of the bench. Her hand didn't lose contact and moved lower to lift the lid.

This piano had such an unbelievable pull to her that she could not and would not remove her hand from it. Gently, she touched the keys without pressing them. Her hand was on fire, reminding her of the feel of his hand over hers while trying to teach her how to play. The bench beckoned her to sit and so she did. It was such a familiar movement. She had done it so many times through the years, since that first night he had invited her to his parents' house many years ago, and he played her lullaby for her. Again, the tears made their presence known at the memory.

She knew every single note of that lullaby, and even though she couldn't actually play the piano, she could play this piece; he had taught her how. The fingers of her right hand were still resting on the keys and, of their own volition, started to play. Notes came one after the other and the room was filled with the sound of her lullaby. It sounded so wrong. Her hand could never mimic his flawless movements, or his undeniable talent. The thought of him sitting next to her on this bench – it was the same bench they had shared when she heard him play for the first time the lullaby for her – made his absence so intense that it brought back the burning on her hand. She immediately started feeling guilty for having polluted this sacred part of him. No one should be touching this piano. His scent was still on it. The more she touched it the more it faded and that hurt so deeply. The music stopped and she withdrew her hand.

She was looking at the large instrument, but her thoughts were returning to what had transpired a month ago. Her head was filled with questions. Why? Why us? How could we let this happen? How could he? How could I? Was this the end? No! The last thought panicked her. She rose from the bench in a swift movement, like she was about to do something to change the answer to that last question.

She started pacing the den frantically. She strolled from the desk to the library, passing one of the two large leather tan armchairs and back.

"God, I can't believe this!" Bella exclaimed to herself, and all the memories came back to her.