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Loud applause sounded in the auditorium as Frankie played the last note. As usual, he’d played with his eyes shut, feeling the music running through his body.

“That’s my fiancé,” I said excitedly to the lady beside me. “He’s brilliant, don’t you think?”

I stood with everyone else and clapped until my hands were sore, but I didn’t care. He deserved all the applause, having not only learned to read music, but to compose as well.

The music college had been what he needed after the assault, and his confidence had grown exponentially. Of course, his mum had tried to contact him since she found out how well he was doing, despite her earlier disappearing act. She probably thought there was money to be made from him.

But he’d already blocked her, and since that day twelve months ago, he never looked back, striding forward with his musical career.

The journey was still long, but at least he was on the right path.

Since the assault, I’d put my efforts into helping people who’d suffered abuse, be it domestic against men and women, or child abuse. Even my brothers and sisters had chimed in, and with Dad’s help, they were doing what we could to help. Freya was looking at going into family law when she qualified.

The only downside to this was that Frankie had suffered in order for all this to happen.

I was in awe of the person he’d become, and even Fergus had to agree he had balls of steel.

As for us, I loved the man like no other. Smart, funny, and so fucking talented. He put me to shame.

He was the light to my dark, the yin to my yang, the other part of my soul. Not that he didn’t have his moments.

The past few months, when he’d been writing this composition, he shouted and tugged at his hair until I swept him into my arms and kissed him until he forgot what he was doing.

Often, that would do the trick, and before he knew it, the music was flowing again.

We cleared a space in the conservatory, a place he loved, and he’d sit for hours gazing out of the window, caressing the keys, the gentle sound of his unmistakable music filling the house.

I’d sit for hours on a Sunday morning listening to him play. Oftentimes, I’d watch him, as mesmerised as the first time I saw him, but in summer, we threw the doors open and melodies filled the air.

He lived and breathed the piano. I suggested once he take up another instrument, but he shook his head.

“This is my passion, Mac. There’s something about the sound, the clear notes, the versatility that you can’t get with another instrument.”

And he played again, proving his point.

The strange thing was, the moment I brought him home from the shithole he’d originally called home, I knew he’d never leave, despite our little hiccup when I really thought he might, but slowly, he settled in, making it his own.

I had no complaints.

Tonight was all about him and his music, though. He’d blown everyone away at college, and when they found out his circumstances, they took him in on a full scholarship.

Their money hadn’t been wasted, and they were more than happy with their investment.

The choice now was what Frankie wanted to do. His options were plentiful, and now he’d started composing, he was considering movie scores. I had complete faith in him and his talented fingers.

“I’m so proud of him,” his gran said from the seat next to me, “and you, my two grandsons. You’re just perfect, the pair of you.”

Frankie had invited everyone to his concert. We filled the front row and some. None of us wanted to miss his debut performance.

He’d done mini concerts at the college, but nothing on this scale. Hundreds of people were here to see him and other students perform, and they’d all done brilliantly.

We’d been engaged for a year now, neither of us regretting the decision made in the heat of the moment. Rings had been exchanged at Christmas, but there were no plans to marry yet. We were happy with our lives as they were for the time being.

Ignoring Fergus’s pleas, I’d decided to stay in the emergency department and face the challenges that changed daily. I loved what I did and who I did it with. Sal had also stayed, and after a few get-togethers at home, he was dating Tilly.

I’d given him the talk, as any big brother would, and as long as he was good to her, we’d be okay.

“Are we eating at Maccie’s later, Mac?” To Frankie’s delight, Logan had come back into his life, still a handful, but the fear I’d often see in his eyes at the mere mention of Brian had disappeared. He was a happy eight-year-old boy with a love of football.