THIRTY-TWO

                                    

                                          
SCOTT
After the talent show, my wife, and my son Jackson went straight home. As I sat on the couch waiting for Miles to be home, I couldn't help but think about what had happened earlier. It wasn't my first time seeing him play the piano, but it was indeed my first time hearing him sing.
 
On the drive home, my wife and I couldn't stop talking about how incredible Miles' performance was. We marveled at his growth and the way he had captivated everyone in the room. We were eager to share our joy with him and let him know just how impressed we were.
 
As soon as we arrived home, I settled down on our living room couch, eagerly awaiting Miles' return. The warmth of the house embraced me as I sat there, lost in thought. I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by emotions, with pride and love for my son bubbling up inside me.
 
Suddenly, memories flooded my mind, transporting me back to a time when our family used to play at the subway station.
 
A wide grin spread across my face as I reminisced about our impromptu performances. Our family, a band composed of mismatched instruments, played passionately, igniting the spirits of everyone who passed by. The harmonies we created became a part of the city's heartbeat.
 
Miles, my youngest son, was the shining star of our subway symphony. With his tousled hair and a guitar strapped across his chest, he exuded an infectious energy. But it was his piano skills that left everyone mesmerized. Miles possessed a rare talent—one that touched the souls of those who listened.
 
Every evening, our station became a stage, and the subway walls transformed into a grand concert hall. The resonance of the piano keys danced through the air, accompanied by the gentle strumming of my guitar. We played with an unwavering passion that transcended the chaos surrounding us.
 
The commuters would pause in their hurried steps, captivated by the harmonious melodies that floated through the air. Their faces lit up with smiles as if reminded of forgotten dreams and long-lost aspirations. The music united strangers in a temporary escape from the monotony of their lives.
 
As the last notes of our performance echoed, applause erupted from the crowd. People would dig into their pockets, offering tokens of gratitude and appreciation. Their generous donations, however small, helped sustain our humble existence.
 
But it was more than just busking for us; it was a celebration of the bond we shared as a family. The moments on that subway platform brought us closer together, reminding us of the magic we carried within ourselves. Our music became the language through which we connected, expressing emotions that words alone could not convey.
 
I sighed as I stood up and made my way to the kitchen. I rubbed my eyes and stretched, feeling the weight of another year settle on my shoulders. As I entered the kitchen, the warm aroma of vanilla and butter enveloped me, instantly lifting my spirits.
 
There, at the countertop, stood my wife, Jocelyn, donning a tired but loving smile. Her gentle eyes sparkled with fatigue, telling a tale of late nights and secret preparations. Clad in a cozy sweater and flour-dusted apron, she looked like an angel amidst the chaos of ingredients.
"You should go to sleep, honey," I said softly, my voice filled with exhaustion and concern. I couldn't help but hover closer to her, gently placing my hand above hers. The dim light of the lamp revealed the weariness etched on her face, but she still managed a faint smile. As her eyes met mine, I noticed a scar on the corner of her forehead, barely visible beneath her tousled hair. Just looking at it made my heart ache with unbearable guilt.
 
"Just give me a hug, and I'll be fine, honey," she said, her voice revealing a familiar vulnerability. I nodded my head in response, understanding the unspoken weight of her words. Sending a cascade of warmth through my body, I embraced her in a tight, comforting hug.
 
It had been a while since we had shared such intimate moments, lost as we were in the fast-paced chaos of life. Yet, as we stood there, locked in each other's arms, the world faded away, leaving only the two of us to exist in the precious present.
 
As I held her close, I realized just how much I had missed this connection. It felt like rediscovering a long-lost treasure, one that we had kept hidden for far too long. The familiar scent of her hair and the rhythmic rise and fall of our breaths melded together, forging a renewed bond. In that moment, time slowed, and the whispers of our hearts danced in harmony.
 
"I'm sorry, honey," I said to her softly, my voice laced with sincerity and vulnerability. "I promise I'm going to do all I can to be better, not just your husband but also the father our children needed."
 
Jocelyn's grip on me tightened, her embrace filled with both forgiveness and hope. Her voice quivered as she replied, "I know you can, Scott."
 
Those words echoed in my mind as I embarked on a journey of rebuilding trust and rekindling the love that had brought us together. I sought therapy to confront my unresolved issues.