After a hectic week celebrating two birthdays - my husband's and my daughter's - here I am again with a story prompted by a photo on -
Molly eased herself into the chair, careful not to move it from the dents in the carpet. Her feet only just reached the floor.
She spread her fingers over the keys, imagining younger, sinewy hands, closed her eyes and air-played a song.
Painful tears dripped onto her blouse.
The door opened, but it was only Paul.
“You’re always in here – I’m getting rid of this stuff.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“It’s been two years.”
“He’ll come home.”
Paul flicked the cymbal as he left.
The sound vibrated through Molly’s soul before soaring out into the world - a message of love and hope.