A Piano for Her Life

When the final piece ended, the concert hall erupted in applause.

Audrey McMillan, seated in the front row, was the first to rise. She walked onto the stage and presented August Hart with a bouquet.

The crowd immediately began buzzing.

"That's the CEO of McMillan Group. She actually went up there herself to give him flowers? That's unbelievable!"

"What's so unbelievable about it? Mr. Hart was Ms. McMillan's first love. Back then, he went abroad to study without so much as a word to her, and she didn't even hold it against him. Every year, she poured millions into the orchestra he worked for just to make sure he kept his position as principal."

"Now that he's finally back, of course our devoted Ms. McMillan can't wait to stick by his side."

Ms. McMillan.

So that was how people addressed my wife in a world I could never hope to be part of.

I crushed the ticket in my hand.

Two thousand dollars. Enough to cover a day's hospital expenses, yet it had only bought me the chance to see that man.

I gave a bitter laugh and left the concert hall.

Luxury cars packed the area outside the venue.

I couldn't get through, so I stood by the street and waited for the crowd to thin out.

When I looked up, I saw August shielding Audrey as he helped her into a car, keeping the overexcited fans from jostling her.

"Audrey, thank you for coming to my recital. I'm really happy you came."

With an arm around her waist, he ignored the flashing cameras, bent down, and kissed her on the cheek.

Audrey didn't pull away. Instead, she gave him a helpless smile and let him guide her into the car.

The car drove away, and the crowd dispersed.

I looked at the $200 left in my bank account, opened Maps, and found the nearest subway station.

It was three miles away. It took me two hours to walk there.

By the time I reached the station, my clothes were soaked through with sweat.

Audrey called just as I got home.

The old electric fan buzzed and crackled.

"Samuel, why haven't you answered my messages? Are you mad at me? Because I haven't been home for two months?"

Audrey always sounded cold and serious when she spoke to other people. It was the kind of tone that made everyone around her instinctively tense, but with me, her voice was always especially gentle.

"Don't be mad, okay? I'll be home in a couple of days, all right?

"How's Annie doing? Is she feeling any better? Does she still have to stay in the hospital a few more days?"

I fought the ache in my chest, but in the end, I couldn't stop my voice from trembling. "Do you still care whether Annie is okay?"

There was a brief pause on the other end.

"Of course I do, Samuel. Annie is our baby. I don't want anything to happen to her. This time was my fault. I should've been there with both of you. Next time. I promise I won't let this happen again."

She thought I was angry because she hadn't been there while our daughter was sick.

But this wasn't the first time she'd been absent.

Before, I'd always understood that she was busy. Whenever Annie got sick, I took her to the hospital alone and handled everything myself.

Even when I was so busy I didn't have time to use the bathroom, I'd never blamed Audrey. She was working hard for our family. She was toiling away so our daughter and I could have a better life.

So I never blamed her.

But it turned out she'd been busy with another man—supporting him, attending his recital, and announcing to the entire world that the person she'd truly loved had finally come back to her.

"There won't be a next time," I replied hoarsely.

Our daughter was already gone. How could there be a next time?

Audrey froze for a moment, then quickly responded, "Right, right. There won't be a next time. Annie is going to be healthy from now on. She'll never get sick again."

I gave a self-mocking smile and ended the call.

My screen was still showing the text the cemetery had just sent me.

[Mr. Davidson, we've reserved the plot for you. When would be a convenient time for you to come by?]

That single line made my eyes burn.

I rubbed my swollen, reddened eyes. Ten minutes later, I finally typed a reply.

[I'm sorry. I've decided to take my daughter back to my hometown. Cemetery plots here are still too expensive. I can't afford one.]