“You'll polish the flute every night," Jessica ordered, tossing the instrument onto the table. “If it cracks, you'll sleep outside."
Melodie stood motionless.
“And no more wandering. You stay here unless I say otherwise."
“I understand," she said quietly.
Jessica stepped closer. “You lost. I won. So stop looking at him like he still remembers."
Melodie's eyes didn't flicker. “I don't need him to remember. The flute already knows."
Jessica slapped her.
---
That night, Melodie knelt beside the fireplace, polishing the flute with trembling fingers.
Her lips moved silently as she pressed a sewing pin to the inner grain.
D-U-N-G-E-O-N. W-H-I-P. F-L-U-T-E. L-O-V-E.
One word at a time.
---
The next morning, Jessica posed before the mirror. “Do you think he'll notice if I add gold tri
