I hold her until the sobs dissolve into hiccups.
Then I do what I’ve done since I was twelve.
I go to the kitchen.
Two mugs. Hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows.
The ritual matters. It always has.
We sit on the couch with the steam rising between us.
“Want to tell me what happened?” I ask gently.
She stares into her mug. “It’s just wedding stress. It’s getting on top of me. Ezra has a huge consulting contract overseas. He wants me to go with him for six months after the honeymoon.”
Something in my gut twists.
There’s a piece of this story missing. I can feel it, but I don’t press.
“How’s rehearsal going?” I ask instead. “Big concert soon, right?”
Another tear slips down her cheek.
“Piper, please don’t tell me you backed out.”
“I had to,” she says, defensive but small. “It was too much. The wedding. Ezra’s travel. The practice schedule. I couldn’t commit.”
My heart sinks.
Piper is a prodigy. I’m not just saying that because she’s my sister. She’s incredibly talented, and peoplewere noticing.
Piper didn’t speak until she was four years old, and even then, it wasn’t exactly speaking. Mom was listening to her music when Piper opened her mouth and sang every lyric.
She’s always been quiet, but she hummed constantly. Then she picked up the violin. Most people spend years training for something she could learn by ear.
I soon realized that my little sister speaks through those four strings, and if you listen closely, she’s got plenty to say.
This solo was supposed to be her leap. The moment she stepped fully into her own name.
“You dropped the biggest opportunity of your career for a consulting trip?” I manage to say, even though I can’t hide my disbelief.
“It’s just for now,” she says, eyes fixed on the mug.
“Piper… are you sure about the wedding?” I ask quietly, covering her hand with mine. “We can postpone it. No one would judge you.”
“No,” she says too fast. “Ezra would never agree. He’s already put down deposits on everything.”
“And what do you want?”
She nods, and I’m not sure whether she’s trying to convince me or her own reflection. “I want to get married, Madi. I do.”
I don’t believe her, but I don’t say that. Instead, I pull her closer and let her rest her head on my shoulder. I take the empty mug from her hands and set it down.
“Go to sleep,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
She falls asleep, curled against me like she used to when thunderstorms rattled the windows.
I sit there long after she’s breathing evenly,watching the city lights flicker and realizing that some things are already cracking in ways I don’t know how to fix.
