Chapter 3

The applause for Chloe was deafening. She stood on the stage, basking in the glow of the lights, my sheet music held delicately in her hand as she took a bow. She had just performed my composition at the competition' s solo showcase, and the judges were mesmerized. The pain of it was a dull, constant ache behind my ribs. I had to sit in the audience and watch her steal my voice, my soul, and wear it like a costume. And everyone applauded the performance.

I felt a strange sense of detachment, as if I were floating above my own body. The anger and the hurt were still there, but they were coated in a thick layer of numbness. This was my new reality. I had to endure it. The only thing that kept me going was the faint, flickering hope of London. The Royal Academy of Music. My secret application. It was the only thing that was truly mine. I clung to that thought like a lifeline.

The day of the quartet competition finals was a cruel twist of fate. It was my eighteenth birthday. It was also Chloe' s. We were born on the same day, a fact that had once been a source of childish delight and now felt like a cosmic joke. I remembered my fifteenth birthday, the last one before my father died. He had woken me up with a silly song and a plate of pancakes with a single, lopsided candle in the middle. We had spent the day at the conservatory, listening to a visiting orchestra, and he had given me the locket, a small, silver oval with a single 'A' engraved on the front. "So you' ll always remember who you are, Avery," he had said, his voice warm. "A brilliant musician. My brilliant girl."

Now, the house was filled with the scent of cake and flowers, but none of it was for me. The living room was packed with people for Chloe' s birthday party. My mother and stepfather had gone all out. Balloons in Chloe' s favorite color, pink, bobbed against the ceiling. A huge banner that read "Happy 18th, Chloe!" was strung across the main wall.

I stood in the corner, a glass of punch in my hand, feeling invisible. People I had known for years, parents of other musicians, old family friends, they all walked past me to congratulate Chloe, to gush over her recent "compositional genius."

"You have such a talented daughter," one of my mother' s friends said to her, gesturing towards Chloe, who was holding court by the fireplace. "A true prodigy."

"We' re very proud," my mother replied, her smile never reaching her eyes. She didn' t even glance in my direction.

The presents were piled high. Chloe unwrapped a new, designer cello case from her father, a silk scarf from my mother, and a dozen other expensive gifts from her friends. Ethan and Noah gave her a framed photo of the three of them, taken right after she won the scholarship. I wasn' t in the picture. They were laughing, their arms around each other, a perfect, happy trio.

I waited. Maybe my mom would remember. Maybe she had a small gift for me, something she was waiting to give me in private. The hope was a small, stupid bird in my chest, and it was dying a slow death. As the night wore on, and the cake was cut-a giant, three-tiered confection with "Happy Birthday, Chloe" written in elegant script-I finally accepted the truth. She had forgotten. My own mother had forgotten my eighteenth birthday.

The pain was so sharp and sudden it almost knocked the wind out of me. I slipped out of the crowded room and went upstairs, the sound of their laughter following me down the hall. I sat on my bed in the dark, clutching the silver locket around my neck. It was cold against my skin. "Happy birthday, Avery," I whispered to the empty room. The silence that answered was my only gift.

Later, there was a knock on my door. It was my mother. For a wild second, I thought, she remembers.

She came in, her face flushed from the party. She wasn' t smiling. "Avery, what is wrong with you?" she asked, her voice low and tense. "Chloe is downstairs, celebrating her birthday and our win in the finals today, and you' re up here sulking. It' s incredibly selfish. People are starting to notice."

Our win. Not my win. Not even the quartet' s win. It was Chloe' s win.

"It' s my birthday too, Mom," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

She stared at me, and for a horrible second, I saw only blank confusion in her eyes. Then, a flicker of recognition, followed by a wave of annoyance. "Oh, for heaven' s sake, Avery. With everything going on, the competition, Chloe' s big day... it must have slipped my mind. That' s no reason to ruin the party for your sister."

She didn' t apologize. She didn' t even look sorry.

"I need you to go downstairs right now," she continued, her voice hardening. "And I need you to apologize to Chloe for your behavior. And give her a gift. It' s the least you can do after all the drama you' ve caused."

I just stared at her, my heart feeling like a heavy, useless stone in my chest. She wanted me to apologize. She wanted me to give a gift to the girl who had stolen my dream, my music, and now, my own birthday.