She sat on the stool, tears streaming down her face. The room was dimly lit by three candles, giving off a soft glow from the top of the piano. She didn't need the light though, as she softly played. Her fingers knew all the keys and she needed no music. As she played, a slow, sad melody filed the room, the music seeming to float like mist just above the floor. She kept playing as the tears started to flow quicker, like rain, falling onto the keys. She did not notice though, too consumed in grief to notice something so futile. Even as a key turned in the lock and the door opened, she kept playing, seemingly oblivious to anything around her other than the beautifully fashion instrument before her.
Even outside the wooden door of the apartment he could hear it, hear her, as she let her emotions seep into her fingers, which graced the piano. He could practically feel the music wash over him as he opened the door, sucking him into her little world. Placing his coat and bag at the door, he continued through the dark home, into the living room. There he found her, his wife, sitting at the large mahogany structure. She hadn't been at work for the past week and every time he came home she was in bed, asleep. He could only imagine the torturous thoughts running through her head. This, he was hoping, was a sign of recovery, of coming to terms.
Somewhere in a small dark corner of her mind she could sense his presence, but she paid no attention to that. She was too absorbed with thoughts of a lost life. She leaned back ever so slightly, willing herself to take the smallest bit of comfort in his warm arms, which had wrapped themselves around her. Even doing this she was still playing so it surprised him when she suddenly stopped, pulling quickly out of his embrace. She stood up and moved across the room, backing into a corner, shaking her head.
"No. No I don't deserve this; I don't deserve your comfort or your sympathy." She said, hands out stretched in front of her, like a scared child, defending herself. She hadn't spoken a work al week so it took him aback to hear her small, weak voice. Never before had he seen her look as vulnerable as she looked now. He approached her still, hoping to give her the comfort and support she needed and deserved.
"Come on, come here Katie, It's alright." Tony beckoned to her, begging her to let him touch her.
"No, it's not! I don't deserve it. It's my fault she died. It was because of me!" Violent sobs were racking her body.
"No, Kate, it wasn't your fault, it was a miscarriage. It wasn't self-inflicted."
"Why are you being so nice to me? Haven't I disappointed you? Your daughter is dead because of me!"
"I think you have this confused." He said, finally close enough to grasp her hands in his, "You gave me a daughter to start with. It obviously wasn't meant to be. Not this time. We'll try again." Now Tony moved towards her, taking her in his arms and holding her as the last of her tears fell.