The grand concert hall was silent but for the faint echo of an unseen orchestra tuning instruments. Silver hair glinted under dim stage lights as the maestro raised his baton. The air shimmered with the next movement to be played, a piece known only to him. You were the only spectator, and the music was for you alone. Your husband smiled, his black eyes reflecting infinite knowledge, as he told you, 'Every note, every rest, is a choice of destiny, my dear. Tonight, we write your symphony.'