Ever since he heard her play, Will has been gripped by a strange fascination with Sylvie. He studies her surreptitiously, casting an eye over her letters as he brings up the mail. Every time he hears Sylvie’s door open, he steps out on some pretext or other and sees how she squares her shoulders before going downstairs, as if it’s a daily struggle to face the world.

Observing her so constantly, he feels he knows Sylvie better than he actually does, which is why when he casually mentions his work to her one day, it all comes tumbling out, how he must finish the revisions to his manuscript this summer, as incoming department chair he’ll be swamped in the fall, and then there’s all the paperwork for the adoption, after ten years of trying to conceive, they’re finally ready to adopt. Will stops, feeling foolish for having confided his disjointed anxieties at great length to a stranger, but Sylvie doesn’t seem to find it odd as she listens to him with such sympathy, such understanding.

“It’ll change our lives forever and maybe I’m too old for this transition.”

To his dismay, Sylvie’s eyes fill with tears and he feels like kicking himself for his thoughtlessness, his concerns so trivial in the face of her great transition. But before he can stammer out his apologies, she excuses herself abruptly and shuts the door.