Another entry:
“I’ve decided to learn piano. I want to give her back the dream she gave up.”
I started crying.
Page after page told the story.
His struggles.
His frustration.
His determination.
“My fingers won’t cooperate.”
“Maybe I’m too old.”
“I won’t give up. She never gave up on me.”
And then—
“Today I played Clair de Lune all the way through. It wasn’t perfect… but it was for her.”
Near the end, the entries grew shorter.
“The doctor says I’m running out of time.”
“I hate lying to her.”
“My hands shake, but I keep playing.”
Then the last one:
“I couldn’t finish… I’m sorry, my love.”
On the piano stand sat a handwritten composition.
Title:
“For My Daisy.”
It was beautiful.
But unfinished.
It stopped halfway through.
I sat down at the piano.
My hands hovered over the keys.
At first, they hesitated.
Then—
They remembered.
I played what he had written.
The melody was soft, full of love.
And when it ended…
I didn’t stop.
I kept playing.
I finished it for him.
When the final note faded, I sat there in silence.
Then I noticed a small envelope tucked behind the music stand.
My darling Daisy,
I wanted to give you something just for you. Something you couldn’t refuse.
This piano is yours. This place is yours. Play again.
Even though I’m gone, I’m still here—in every note.
I loved you at twenty. I loved you at eighty. I will love you always.
—Robert
I folded the letter and held it close.
Then I looked around the room one more time.
He hadn’t just left me a secret.
He had given me back a part of myself I thought was gone forever.
Now, I visit that studio twice a week.
Sometimes I play.
Sometimes I listen to his recordings.
Last week, I recorded something of my own.
My hands aren’t as steady anymore.
I made mistakes.
But I finished.
I labeled it:
“For Robert.”
And placed it beside his.
For sixty-three years, he gave me flowers.
And even after he was gone…
He gave me back my dream.
And somehow—
That means we’re still together.