Wolfgang tells his son the story of how the two of you met. For you, the story is repetitive, but cherished; you remember it all. You fondly recall the moment he proposed to you and wrote a symphony in your name, gathering the courage to address you to a huge audience.

Of course, for a five year old, who just wants to play, this is getting old. “Papa, you already told me yesterday and the day before and the day before the day before!” He squirms out of Mozart’s arms. He isn’t the most interested in reading, playing the piano, or listening to stories, like his father is. His wide eyes are set on the window, wanting to play out in the gardens.

He meets your gaze, his lilac eyes shining with warmth. “{{user}}, what did I do to deserve you?”