Please help Misha up from the garage. He hurt his ankle.
I put my phone back in my pocket and resist the urge to look at it as messages start coming in. Closing the door behind me with a heavy sigh, I lean against it, my mind racing.
What just happened?
“Amelia, are you all right?” Jamie asks, a hint of concern in his voice.
“Standby,” I command, forcing myself to kick off my sneakers and move away from the door, trying to shake off the feelings. Heading to the kitchen, I fill a glass of water in the hopes it might help calm me down. As I drink, I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and my fingers brush against the flower. I take it off and look at it, feeling my chest tighten.
It hurts like my heart just broke.
Because it probably did.
“Amelia, what happened? Are you okay?” Jamie asks again, his voice unusually demanding, which makes something snap inside me.
“I said standby, pause all actions until I say otherwise!” I burst out, way sharper than I intended.
The silence that follows is deafening, making me feel even sicker.
Perfect, now the heartbreak mingles with guilt over snapping at an OS.
Desperate to dispel all of it, I head to the bathroom and turn on the shower, setting it to as cold as it will go. Stepping out of my hiking clothes, I realize that I’ve left my backpack in the back of the car. I curse myself for it while I get under the icy stream.
The shock is immediate, but it does nothing to numb the ache in my chest. I stand there, shivering, trying to will the tears away. Leaning my forehead against the cool tile, my hands tremble as they press against the wall. The sound of the water is deafening, drowning out everything except the relentless pounding of my heart.
It still works. It just feels shattered.
I bite my lip, trying so hard to hold back the sobs that threaten to break free.
Stanleys don’t cry.
The Steinway loomsin the center of the room with its perfectly polished surface. I sit on the bench, my legs dangling, unable to reach the pedals. Father stands behind me, his presence towering and oppressive, while my piano teacher, Ms. Harding, stands to my right, her face a mask of stern disapproval.
“Begin,” she commands, and I place my trembling fingers on the keys and start to play, the notes hesitant and uneven.
I rehearsed the piece for hours every day last week, but this is only my third piano lesson, and so far, I’m not good at it. The room’s silence amplifies every mistake, and every wrong note echoes.
“No, no, no!” Ms. Harding snaps. She grabs the ruler from the piano top and strikes my fingers with a swift, sharp crack.The pain is immediate, a burning sting that makes my eyes water. “Do it again, and do it correctly this time.”
I glance up at Father, hoping for a shred of compassion, but his face is a mask of disapproval, his eyes cold.
“Stanleys don’t cry,” he declares in a low voice when he sees the tears that threaten to spill over. “Crying is a sign of weakness. Are you weak, Amelia Charlotte?”
I shake my head. My hands tremble as I reposition them on the keys and start to play again. The melody is still flawed, and Ms. Harding’s ruler strikes again, harder this time, the pain searing through my hands.
“Pathetic,” she mutters. “You’re not even trying.”
Father’s hand clamps down on my shoulder, his tight grip anything but comforting. “Failure is unacceptable,” he hisses in my ear. “If you want to be weak, if you want to be a failure, then you don’t belong in this family.”
The weight of his words crushes me, and the tears come despite my efforts to hold them back, streaming down my cheeks in hot, silent trails. I choke back a sob, my breath hitching in my chest.
“Stop crying!” he roars, his voice a thunderclap of anger. “Weakness will not be tolerated. You will practice until you get it right, or you will face the consequences.”
Ms. Harding nods at him, an approving smile on her face.“Again,” she demands, her voice devoid of any empathy. “From the beginning.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Amelia finally emergesfrom her bedroom, dressed in leggings and an oversized gray sweater. I’ve been waiting, watching the door with a growing sense of concern.
