Deafened by the Meds, the Abandoned Wife Finally Stops Playing Nice

I closed my eyes and pressed the first key.

My fingertips registered the resistance, the vibration, but the air remained silent. Flying blind, I relied entirely on memory and tactile sensation, striking the keys mechanically.

One measure. Two measures.

Was I on tempo? Was the pitch correct? I had no way of knowing. I only knew I had to finish.

For Mom.

For the last scrap of dignity I had left.

A rough hand jerked my arm. My eyes flew open to Joshua's livid face. He hauled me off the bench with enough force to bruise.

"Stop! It's hideous!" he snarled, disgust twisting his features. "Did you do that on purpose? It sounds like a dying animal!"

*So... I played it wrong?*

I looked around blankly. Guests were covering their ears, their faces contorted with second-hand embarrassment and scorn. Isabella stood in the center of the crowd, laughing so hard her shoulders shook.

"Faith, are you playing the piano or smashing it? That was hilarious!"

Joshua's reputation was in tatters. He raised his hand, poised to strike. The air in the room grew heavy. But with so many eyes watching, he clenched his fist and lowered it, his knuckles white.

"Get out," he hissed, pointing at the grand double doors. "Get out of my sight. Now!"

I scrambled up from the floor, a mess of humiliation and fear. Amid the silent roar of laughter, I fled that glamorous, gilded hell.

I burst out of the banquet hall and into a torrential downpour. Icy rain lashed against my skin, mixing with the hot tears on my face. I couldn't tell where the rain ended and my grief began.

I wandered the streets aimlessly. The world was a vacuum of sound. Only the vibration of the rain hammering the pavement traveled up through the soles of my feet, a rhythmic thudding in my bones.

The world tilted. A wave of dizziness crashed over me, turning the streetlights into spinning streaks of light. My knees gave way, and I collapsed into the gutter.

Before the darkness took me completely, a pair of headlights sliced through the rain. A figure ran toward me, frantic and blurred.

Not Joshua.

Definitely not him.