The wind whistles through the open door, dusting the living room with fresh, glittering, white snow. Inside lies an elegant Christmas tree, glittering in the corner of the room, adorned with unique decorations, reminiscent of journeys shared between a man and his wife. At the top of the tree is a lone star with no light. The charming, little one-story farmhouse isn't empty, although it's so quiet it's like a Charlie Chaplin movie. An elderly man, George, dozes in his old worn rocking chair next to the warm, crackling fireplace. George suddenly wakes up, noticing the cold creeping into the house. He groans and drags his feet towards the door in his worn robe and worn slippers. As he is about to close the door, George peers at the accumulating snow. The white storm takes him back to an exact memory of fifty years ago. Think back to that day, inside the magnificent Water Hill Inn, when warm air radiated through the vents. In the candle-lit, rose-strewn ballroom, George stood before his friends and family. Music was suggested as a vision ...