“Every Time I Left the House, My Husband Closed the Kitchen Door and Told My 8-Year-Old Daughter, ‘Good Girl, Just Like That. Keep Moving Your Hands. Don’t Stop. A Little More, Until You Finish.’ When I Asked My Daughter What They Were Doing While I Was Away, She Whispered Fearfully, ‘Mommy, John Told Me Not to Tell You Anything.’”

“Then why were your hands so tired, sweetheart?” I asked.

Emily smiled shyly.

“Because I wanted to play the song without making mistakes. John kept telling me to take a break, but I didn’t want to stop.”

“You don’t have to be perfect to make me happy.”

She hugged me.

“I know, Mommy. But I wanted you to smile again, like you do in the old pictures.”

My heart broke.

John explained that Emily herself had asked him to teach her the song David used to play during our marriage.

My daughter placed her little fingers on the keys.

The first note sounded uncertain.

The second was clearer.

On the third, she made a mistake and stopped.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” I said. “I’m listening.”

And she continued.

It was our wedding song.

I remembered David. Our old house. Those Sundays when he played the piano while little Emily danced around the living room.