Anne could hear the melodic notes of the piano flowing through to the living room from her daughter’s bedroom. Maria had been diagnosed with lymphoma the previous year and it had only gotten worse since then. It seemed that playing the piano was the only thing she did nowadays, although it was more likely a distraction from her impending death than a pastime. Anne knew very well that Maria would not live much longer, but she didn’t let herself think about it too often in fear that she might die as well because of the heartache. She acted as if the sickness was only an insignificant thought not worth her time, avoiding questions from her family and friends when the topic of Maria came up. “Why is all of her time spent playing the piano in that room?” they would ask when prompted. Maria tended to open the window while she played, always saying that she hoped it would attract birds to come and listen. What she did not know was that anyone in passing was able to hear her playing through the opened window, and also that many of them constantly stopped to listen. So, when the music came to an abrupt stop upstairs, Anne assumed that whoever had gathered outside this time would shortly be on their way. The days moved by quickly after that, with Maria’s health declining more and more with every passing hour. Then, on a rainy Wednesday afternoon in July of 1946, Maria took her last breath. The doctors said she had passed peacefully and that Anne should make arrangements for the funeral, but all she wished to do was forget. Forget that Maria had once been in the now empty room at the end of the hallway upstairs. Forget that there was nothing she could have done to help nurse her back to health. So, when Anne was making herself dinner a few days later, she knew that the silence spread throughout the house was for the better. Maria’s presence was no longer shouting at her, pleading to be helped. Anne sold Maria’s piano, hoping that with the absence of the instrument, there would be an absence in thought of her daughter too. All she wanted was for an escape from the thoughts of Maria lurking in the back of her mind. She convinced herself that she was over it, that she had forgotten her daughter, but it was during the most silent moments of the night when Anne remembered the sound of her music. Her life continued as one would, with her meeting a man she loved and starting a new family. She considered this to be her fresh start, an escape from the ghost of the once-alive daughter Maria was. Still, an uneasiness came over her whenever the closed door at the end of the hallway stared at her longingly. Her husband would ask what the room had been used for prior to his moving in, but Anne would avoid the question and start a conversation about his work instead. All she wanted was for Maria to be forgotten, becoming only a small memory in the corner of her consciousness with the passing of time. So, when there was a crowd of people gathered outside of her house one day as she was returning from town, she was puzzled as to what they could possibly be there for. Her heart stopped and she felt the blood drain from her face as she heard notes from a piano traveling out of a now-opened window. She had sold the piano ages ago, hadn’t she? She could think of several reasons as to why the window could be opened, such as her husband’s curiosity about the abandoned room or her toddler son’s irresponsible wandering. But there was no plausible explanation as to why there were sounds of a piano playing when no piano should have been present. Anne hurried through the door and up the stairs, taking note of the bedroom door remaining closed as it had been for the last four years. When she opened it, the room appeared exactly as it had when Maria occupied it. The absence of a piano and the opened window were the only differences, which made Anne shudder with unease. She convinced herself she was going insane. The guilt of what only she remembered and held on to must have been causing her mind to hear and see things that weren’t there. She made her way down the stairs and back outside where the people of the neighborhood remained. The music teacher from the local school beamed at her from across the yard, drawing her attention. Something about the way that his eyes remained dull in the sunlight caused Anne to feel the urge to retreat, to walk away and tuck this strange occurrence into the back of her mind. Her curiosity getting the best of her, Anne gingerly made her way over to the man. She greeted him and asked what had made him so gleeful, wondering if it was related to the ominous music that had emerged from her house a few minutes before. He looked back at her as if she should have known the answer, as if they both knew what he was about to say. The man responded with, “Yes, that was one of my favorite pieces being played in that bedroom. Very good song.” Anne should have felt relief with this statement, but something in the man’s tone told her to consider this decision first. As if he knew every thought running through Anne’s head at the moment, he continued with a sentence that made her heart stop beating, her blood stop flowing, and her mind start racing. He smiled as he whispered, “It’s called ‘Don’t Forget Me.’”