The soft murmur of the newly finished dinner still floated in the air as Charles settled on the piano bench. The dim light of the room illuminated his concentrated profile, his fingers sliding naturally over the keys as he began to play SIN 24 (1:5). The sound enveloped the room with an almost magical calm, contrasting with the energy that your children had overflowed moments before.

You, lying on the sofa with a cup of tea in your hands, watched the scene with a serene smile. You knew that Charles did it for the children, but also for you. There was something in his way of playing that always managed to relax you, as if every note caressed your mind.

Your children, curled together in a blanket, began to yawn to the rhythm of the music, their eyelids weighing each other with each chord. Charles looked up for a moment and smiled sideways at you, that characteristic gesture of his that only you understood.

"I think it worked," he murmured, without stopping playing.