He raised the piano lid, resting his fingertips lightly on the keys. He’d played this instrument a lot early in their marriage, learning ballads and love songs to serenade his young wife with as she lounged on the couch with dreams in her eyes and their precious son growing in her belly. Now, all he wanted to play was…
“The Funeral March?” A quiet voice said, just behind him.
A couple clinging together by the skin of their fingernails: he, unable to take much more, and she, determined to keep up appearances.
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