When the daylight has faded

Apple pie in the sun (#quiet)

The sun breaks through the cloud cover, brightening up the living room just as David pushes Molly through the door and places her chair at the table in its designated place. Molly's eyes seem to sparkle, while David's are burning. Things are so normal, yet absolutely different.

"Hi Molly! So good to see you!" David's mother gets up from her chair and gives her daughter-in-law a kiss on the cheek. "Would you like some cake?"

Without waiting for an answer, she fills Molly's plate with her famous apple pie. David sits down in his usual seat, next to his wife. His mum grabs a spoon and feeds her daughter-in-law a tiny little mouthful. Molly's mouth opens a fraction.

"Mum's cake, Molly! Your favourite, isn't it? Open your mouth a little more, honey." David strokes Molly's cheek.

Molly is quiet, of course, the disease having taken her ability to speak, to walk, to live, but refusing to give her the ability to die.

"Do you think she knows where she is?" Frank, David's father, sounds contemplative.

"Dad, please! Molly is right here!" David hisses.

He knows his father means no harm. After all, the doctors have assured them that Molly's cognitive abilities have been destroyed, effectively killing her mind and soul, simply leaving a broken outer shell that is hardly capable of performing the simplest of tasks anymore. David disagrees. Molly's eyes are bright; he is sure that she leant into his caress when he was stroking her cheek. No, Molly is still in there somewhere. Nobody can convince him otherwise.

He looks at his wife. Her eyes are half-shut, her chin lifted a little towards the sun. She has always loved the sun. All their holidays took them to beaches and guaranteed sunburns on his shoulders and nose. Molly had been so full of life, so full of joy. Even now, her mere presence fills their family home with a life that it hasn't seen since he had to have her moved to a facility.

David's parents are now talking about Coronavirus restrictions. His mother cannot believe that clubs are being reopened so early; his father is fuming that children and their needs don't seem to play much of a role in this current crisis. Squeezing Molly's limp hand, David joins the conversation. Even Ben, their only son, takes a seat at the table, a rare occurrence – Ben never visits his mother at the nursing home. He remains quiet but enjoys the apple pie and the sunshine.

When the clouds hide the sun again, Ben puts his plate in the sink, gives his mum a quiet kiss on the cheek and disappears upstairs. His parents gather their jackets, hug Molly and drive home.

David turns to his wife and looks into her eyes. She stares right back at him. The doorbell rings. Molly's first four hours in her own home since the pandemic started are up. David pushes her into the taxi, then rushes inside when big fat raindrops suddenly hit his cheeks.

He sinks into his seat. Outside, a thunderstorm rages, but it is unable to drown out the quiet inside.