I last connected with my husband through piano music. A harsh, angry note from spiteful neighbors shattered that joy. But after the truth came out, my granddaughter made things right, leaving those entitled neighbors baffled.
“Oh, Thalion, did you enjoy it today, darling?” I asked softly as my fingers left the ivory keys. The final notes of “Clair de Lune” filled my cozy living room. My eyes drifted to the framed portrait of Thalion, my late husband. His gentle eyes sparkled at me, just as they had throughout our fifty years together.
My tabby cat, Cressida, purred lazily by my feet. I lifted Thalion’s portrait gently and scratched behind Cressida’s ears, feeling a familiar ache in my chest.
I miss you, sweetheart. Five years gone, but sometimes it feels like yesterday.
I whispered, “Time for dinner, my love,” kissing the cold glass of the frame. “Okay, I’ll play your favorite before bed—‘Moon River,’ always.”
As I set the frame down, I almost heard Thalion’s warm laugh and saw the wrinkles by his eyes as he teased, “You spoil me, Elowen.”
I shuffled to the kitchen, pausing to gaze at the piano—my faithful companion for seventy-two years.
“What would I do without you?” I murmured, running my hand over its glossy surface.
That night, I whispered, “Goodnight, Thalion. See you in my dreams.”
The next morning, while listening to Chopin’s “Nocturne in E-flat major,” a sharp knock startled me. My fingers slipped, the music stopped.
Through the window, my new neighbor glared red-faced.
“Hey, lady!” he shouted. “Stop that noise! Your pathetic plinking keeps us all awake!”
I stared, stunned. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, though a small voice inside protested—no one had ever complained before 11 a.m.
He stomped away, shaking me. When I closed the piano lid, my refuge felt tainted.
The next day, I closed all the windows before playing. The music was muffled and quiet, but I hoped to keep the peace.
Then the doorbell rang sharply during Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” I opened it, heart heavy.
A scowling woman, pinched-faced, glared. “Listen here, old lady,” she snapped. “The dead are calling, and you’re still hammering that piano? Stop the noise, or I’ll report you to the HOA!”
I realized she was my new neighbor’s wife.
It felt like a slap. “I… I closed all the windows,” I said quietly.
“Not enough!” she snapped, turning on her heel. “Stop making noise with your stupid piano!”
Tears welled up as I leaned against the door. “Oh, Thalion,” I whispered, “what should I do?”
His sweet, firm voice almost reached me: You play, Elowen. Play with passion. Don’t stop for anyone.
At the piano, my fingers hovered, but I couldn’t press a key.
Day after day, I tried. Cardboard over windows, short playing sessions, even moving the piano to the basement to keep quiet.
Nothing satisfied those neighbors—the Grinches, as I’d come to think of them.
My heart ached at the thought of losing my beloved piano. It was a part of me, a living connection to Thalion and our life together.
That night, lost in the music, I forgot the neighbors.
The next morning, tending my small herb garden, I froze.
On the wall, sprayed in rude red letters: “SHUT UP!”
I sank to my knees and cried. “I can’t do this anymore, Thalion.”
That was the first day in decades I didn’t touch my piano.
That night, holding Thalion’s picture, I sat in his recliner.
“My darling, I’m sorry. I’m not strong enough to fight.”
The phone’s loud ring startled me. I scrambled for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Mom? It’s me,” my son Lysander said warmly. “How are you?”
I fought tears. “I’m okay, dear. Just a quiet day at home.”
A pause. “Mom, you sound off. Is everything alright?”
I sighed, wondering whether to share.
“It’s nothing. Just some trouble with the new neighbors.”
“Trouble? What kind?”
I told him everything—complaints, threats, the vandalism.
“I don’t know what to do. I feel lost.”
“Oh Mom, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have helped.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. Your life is busy enough.”
“You’re never a burden. For years, your music brought joy. Remember those Christmas parties? School recitals? You’re a treasure, not a nuisance.”
“Listen, I’m calling Seraphina. She’s closer. She’ll check on you. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”
Hanging up, a flicker of hope sparked. Maybe I wasn’t alone.
Days dragged by. My piano gathered dust. I felt myself fading.
Then one evening, a loud knock woke me. At the door stood my granddaughter, Seraphina, smiling warmly.
“Surprise, Nana!” she said, hugging me.
Her eyes grew wide with horror. “Nana, who did this to your wall?”
Through tears, I told her everything.
“Oh Nana,” she said, pulling me to the couch. “How dare they hurt you? Have you reported this?”
“I didn’t want to make a fuss. The piano is all I have left of Grandpa.”
Seraphina’s eyes filled with tears. “I know, Nana. We’ll fix this. I promise.”
“How?” I whispered.
“They hate your music. But they don’t know you. These spoiled brats will learn a lesson.”
The next day, Seraphina was busy. She called, bought supplies, and rallied my longtime neighbors.
“Nana, we’ll teach those Grinches respect.”
That evening, Seraphina hid tiny speakers in the boxwood shrubs under the Grinches’ windows.
She grinned as their car pulled in. “Showtime, Nana!”
After they left, soft piano music played from the speakers. Confused, they rushed outside. Then dog barks and car sirens blared.
I laughed as they searched for the noise.
Seraphina smirked. “Now, for the grand finale.”
She pressed a button. Strange fart noises echoed.
I laughed until I cried.
“Seraphina!” I gasped between laughs. “You’re terrible!”
She hugged me tight. “Nobody bothers my Nana. And a little revenge never hurts.”
The next morning, a crew arrived to convert my piano room into a modern, soundproof studio.
“Now you can play whenever you want, Nana,” Seraphina said, squeezing my hand. “No one will stop you again.”
When the work was done, I sat at the polished piano. My fingers trembled, but playing felt like coming home.
I closed my eyes and felt Thalion’s presence as “Moon River” played softly.
“That’s my girl,” I almost heard him say. “Play on, Elowen. Play on.”
Seraphina danced around the room, wine glass in hand.
“You rock, Nana! Grandpa would be proud.”
As the final notes faded, tears filled my eyes.
“Thank you, honey. You brought back my voice.”
“No, Nana,” Seraphina knelt beside me. “Your voice was always there. I just helped you find it again.”
Soon after, Seraphina left, handing me a remote control at the driveway.
“Just in case those Grinches act up again,” she smiled. “One press—fart city. But I doubt you’ll need it. The whole neighborhood supports you!”
I hugged her fiercely.
“I love you, Seraphina. Thank you for everything.”
“I love you, Nana. Keep playing, no matter what.”
I smiled through tears, texting my son:
“I’m better than I’ve been in weeks. Thanks for your support. Love you.”
As I turned back inside, I thought I saw Thalion standing with open arms, inviting me to play.
I brushed away a happy tear and stepped in.
The piano was waiting.
I played, feeling whole again.
My home and heart filled with music.
And I knew Thalion was listening, laughing, dancing.
“This one’s for you, my love,” I whispered, lost in our favorite song. “And for our family, who never left me.”