Page 34 of The Sound Between Us
I turn away, back to the wreckage of dinner. “You know, I don’t know what to do for food now. That was my last pack of spaghetti. You turning up has been a complete logistical disaster.”
He doesn’t respond. Just moves toward the piano. A second later, the sound begins—faint, haunting, almost not real.
His fingers drift across the keys. He’s playing skin, not ivory.
I freeze.
The song is “Trust.” My mother’s song.
And it hits. Right in the chest.
Tears sting before I can stop them. My shoulders rise to my ears and then collapse back down. They’re carrying the weight of it all.
He plays her song with meaning; with understanding. And I know he doesn’t.
He can’t.
But he plays anyway.
And I stand there, silent and bitter and split open just a little wider.
Because I don’t trust him. Not one bit.
