Chapter 2 No.2

Erica stood in the middle of her bedroom. The room felt like a museum of a life that was no longer hers. Alex was out for the night, on duty with Diamond. It was the only time she had.

Her eyes fell on the silver-framed photo on the nightstand. A picture of her and Alex on their wedding day. He was smiling, a genuine, unguarded smile she hadn't seen in years. She looked happy, radiant. Hopeful.

She picked up the frame, her thumb tracing the glass over his face. For a moment, she felt a ghost of the love she used to have for him. A faint, aching echo.

She walked to the trash can and dropped the photo inside. The glass made a soft clink against the metal. It was a quiet sound for such a loud ending.

Next, she opened the bottom drawer of her dresser. It was filled with concert programs, newspaper clippings, and award ribbons. Mementos from her life as a violinist. A life before Diamond. A life when her hands created beauty instead of clenching into fists.

She gathered them all in her arms, the glossy paper cool against her skin. She carried them to the fireplace in the living room. It was summer. The hearth was cold and dark.

She placed the pile of memories inside, one by one. She didn't light a match. She just left them there, a paper tomb for the person she used to be.

The hardest part was last.

She went to the closet and reached to the very back, behind a row of clothes she never wore. Her fingers closed around the familiar shape of the velvet-lined case.

She pulled it out and laid it on the bed. For a long time, she just looked at it. It was a custom case, a gift from her parents for her acceptance into Juilliard.

She opened the lid.

Inside lay the pieces of her violin. The beautiful instrument Alex had bought her on their first anniversary. The one he had smashed against the wall during an argument three months ago.

"Music is taking up too much of your time," he had said, his face contorted with a rage she didn't recognize. "Your focus should be here. On us. On what Diamond needs from us."

She had painstakingly gathered every splintered piece of wood, every snapped string. She had put them back in the case, thinking that maybe, one day, it could be repaired. That maybe they could be repaired.

It was the last, most foolish piece of hope she had left.

She remembered the feel of the bow in her hand, the vibration of the strings against her chin. The way the music could make her forget everything else. It was the warmest, most vital part of her.

With cold, deliberate movements, she carried the case downstairs and out the back door to the large metal trash bins behind the house.

She opened the lid. The smell of garbage hit her.

She held the case over the opening. She hesitated for only a second.

Then she turned it upside down.

The broken pieces of her soul tumbled out, landing with a hollow clatter on top of coffee grounds and discarded food.

She closed the lid, the metal groaning in protest. She did not look back.

When she returned to the house, her phone was ringing. It was the hospital.

A nurse's voice, quiet and full of pity. "Erica? It's about your sister. You should come now."

She grabbed her keys, her heart pounding against her ribs. She ran to her car and drove, her hands gripping the wheel. She broke every speed limit.

She burst through the hospital doors and ran to the elevators, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

As the elevator doors opened on Jayda's floor, she saw them.

Diamond stood there, her arm linked through Alex's. She was wearing a pristine white coat, looking down at her perfectly manicured nails.

Alex saw Erica first. His face hardened.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, stepping forward to block her path.

"The hospital called," she said, trying to push past him. "I need to see her."

"No." His hand shot out, grabbing her arm. His grip was like steel. "You're not going in there."

"She's my sister!" she cried, her voice cracking. "Let me go!"

"Diamond is with her," he said, his voice low and menacing. "She's saying her goodbyes. She doesn't want to be disturbed."

Erica stared at him, disbelief warring with a tidal wave of rage. "You're letting her in, but not me?"

Diamond looked up then, a small, sad smile on her face. "It's for the best, Erica. Jayda is at peace. We shouldn't upset her."

She held up a small, empty plastic cup. A water cup.

"I gave her some water just before she closed her eyes," Diamond said, her voice soft and sweet. "She was so thirsty."

The simple, domestic act felt like a deliberate, calculated cruelty. A final assertion of Diamond's place in Erica's life, in her family's final moments. Diamond, the benevolent angel. Erica, the disruptive outsider.

The fight went out of her. Her body went slack. The rage drained away, leaving only a vast, empty coldness.

She looked at Alex's hand on her arm. She looked at his face, a mask of grim duty. He was a stranger. A monster.

She stopped struggling.

"Okay," she said. Her voice was a dead thing. "Okay."

He released her arm, surprised by her sudden compliance.

She turned and walked back to the elevator. She didn't look back. The pain was a physical thing now, a solid weight in her chest. It wasn't grief. It was fuel.

Every step she took away from them, away from her dying sister, was a step toward her own survival. A step toward retribution.