Chapter 3

My mother threw Nina's welcome-home dinner at the house.

"She just got off a long flight," she said. "She can't handle anywhere loud."

But the dining table was covered in everything Nina loved.

Lobster bisque. Crab cakes. Mango sorbet. A cold Thai peanut salad, glossy with dressing.

I'm allergic to shellfish. Allergic to mango. Allergic to peanuts.

The doctor had warned me seven years ago — an allergic reaction could spike my tinnitus, could throw off my balance, could make the vertigo worse.

My mother was too busy cracking lobster tail for Nina to notice.

My father slid the only bowl of plain broth in front of Nina. Julian reached across the table and took the small salad plate meant for me.

"Nina just got in. Let her have something gentle."

I was seated closest to the door. My right side was aimed straight at the speaker. There wasn't even a clean set of silverware in front of me.

Sebastian noticed. He half-turned to ask Marta to set another place.

Nina's eyes filled before he could open his mouth.

"Is Wren still angry with me? Is that why she won't eat?"

Sebastian's hand froze mid-motion.

In the end, he just slid his own water glass across the table toward me.

"Here. Drink something."

I looked at the glass. I didn't touch it.

Halfway through dinner, Nina reached under her chair and pulled out a small box. She slid it across the tablecloth to me, both hands, the way you'd offer something delicate.

"Wren. This is for you. It's overdue."

Inside was a pair of headphones.

Old. The paint chipped off in patches. The cable insulation split down the sides. Yellowed masking tape held the jack together.

My mother's eyes shone. "It's the thought that counts."

My father nodded. "She just got back. She doesn't have money of her own yet. The fact that she was thinking of you at all — that's more than enough."

Julian: "It's not about the price. It's about her humbling herself."

Sebastian, low, meant only for me: "Just accept it. Don't embarrass her in front of everyone."

I hadn't opened my mouth yet when my phone buzzed.

A Chase alert.

Purchase — $980.00 — LOWER EAST VINTAGE, NY.

The account I'd been saving for my ear follow-up.

I looked up at Nina. At the chipped, taped-together headphones on the table between us.

"You used my money to buy me garbage," I said. "And you're calling that an apology?"

Nina went pale. Tears fell instantly.

"Wren — I didn't know that card was yours. I only wanted to make it right."

Something in me finally cracked.

"You blew out my ear. You took my surgery. And now you can't even afford to say sorry without charging it to my account."

The room went still.

Nina pressed both hands to her chest and gasped like she couldn't breathe. Tears kept falling.

My father slammed his palm on the table so hard the crystal jumped.

"Wren!"

"Are you trying to break her on her first night home?"

The ringing in my left ear spiked, thin and metallic.

My mother pulled Nina against her shoulder and started to cry. Julian stepped between us, cold-eyed. Even Sebastian frowned.

"Wren. Stop provoking her."

Nina reached, sobbing, for the little box beside her plate. She flipped the lid.

"I'll — I'll put on a song Wren used to love. When we were little. So we can all stop fighting."

A music box.

Then it began to play.

Not a lullaby.

The Chopin Ballade No. 1 in G minor.

The piece I had practiced for three years.

The piece I had played at my Juilliard audition.

The piece I had never been able to listen to since.

The first four bars registered in my left ear — the melody I hadn't heard in seven years, thin and mocking through a cheap tin speaker.

My tinnitus surged like a wire pulled tight.

The room tilted.

The vertigo hit me the way the doctor had warned me it would — sound and memory colliding at once, my balance shearing off between one breath and the next.

I stumbled backward, caught the edge of the sideboard, and went down into shattered crystal.

Glass opened my palm. Something warm slid down the side of my neck from my ear — the old scar tissue, split open where I'd struck the corner of the sideboard on the way down.

Sebastian's body jerked toward me instinctively — one step.

Nina shrieked.

"My hand! Oh God, my hand!"

Sebastian's hand hung in the air.

Then he turned. And put his body between Nina and the broken glass.