Without Angel, the piano room became quiet, with only the wind outside the window and distant birdsong drifting in. Belle gazed through the glass, where the red curtains were pulled aside and hanging on their hooks, giving her a view of the pale gray sky.
Even with the fireplace burning and the windows shut, the cold still remained in the air, bone-deep and stubborn. She subconsciously pulled her coat closed again and buttoned it, concealing and shielding her stomach. Then she allowed herself to breathe and enjoy the silent moment, without Angel constantly talking and asking questions without a single pause for air.
She loved him dearly, but sometimes Angel talked far too much. The thought made her smile to herself as she sipped from the tea on the desk.
