I reckon that is the worst part. Knowing that I am the reason she stays quiet. I am the reason she sits in the pew and never opens her mouth when the hymns start. I did that.

I did that to her, and I have to live with it every single day.

I look at the door in the choir loft every time I walk past it. It looks just the same as it did in 1996. The wood is still just as heavy. The latch still clicks the same way. It is just a piece of wood, but it holds everything I ever broke. I am still standing here, waiting for a song that I know is never going to come.