Chapter 3
After leaving the villa, Melody called her mom first.
The call connected almost instantly.
On the other end, the clink of poker chips echoed as they were shoved across the table.
"Where have you been these past few days? Your brother's trying to get a project proposal to the Walker Family. Don't stir up any trouble for us," Clara Rivers said.
Melody stood by the roadside.
The cold wind brushed against the gauze, making her left ear throb with a dull ache.
"I'm getting a divorce," Melody said.
The clink of poker chips suddenly paused.
Clara' voice dropped to a hush.
'What did you just say?' Clara whispered.
'I'm divorcing Leon,' Melody replied.
On the other end, a chair scraped across the floor.
Clara moved away from the table—she didn't even ask why.
"What about your brother's project?"
Melody just stood there, phone in hand, not moving.
Clara sounded anxious.
"And what about Lily? She's finally on the rise. If you get divorced now, what will people think of the Walker Family?"
Melody stared at the red light across the street.
The countdown flipped from seventeen to sixteen.
She remembered being seventeen, landing a guaranteed spot at the music academy.
But her mom spent the registration money on a computer for her brother Jasper instead.
She said music was way too expensive for girls—better to be practical and grow up fast.
And so she grew up—too fast, too soon.
She learned to use her marriage as a bargaining chip for her family.
She learned what it was like to spend three days in the hospital after the accident, without a single call from her family.
"Mom," Melody said.
Her voice was soft and barely audible.
"I might never hear out of my left ear again."
There was a brief silence on the other end.
Clara spoke in a hushed tone.
"If your hearing's gone, just take care of yourself. Don't blow things out of proportion."
The light turned green.
People walked past her.
Melody stood frozen, then ended the call.
She opened her messaging app, left the family group chat, and deleted her parents from her contacts.
Then she blocked every single number from the Rivers Family.
By the time she was done, her palms were slick with sweat.
It wasn't sadness.
It was relief—finally, she didn't have to listen to them anymore.
With what little money she had left, she rented a one-bedroom apartment in the old part of town.
The building was run-down, with chunks of plaster missing from the hallway walls, and the security door made a harsh, grating noise every time it slammed shut.
Melody could only hear it with her right ear.
Zoe, her landlord, helped her carry her suitcase upstairs.
"So you're living alone?" Zoe asked.
Melody nodded.
Zoe saw the gauze on her ear but kept quiet.
At seven that evening, Zoe knocked on Melody's door, carrying a bowl of warm chicken soup.
"I made a bit extra—hope you don't mind," Zoe said.
The bowl was steaming hot, and Melody cradled it in both hands, her fingertips flushed from the heat.
She took a careful sip.
The salt was a bit much.
But she finished the whole bowl anyway.
The next day, Zoe hauled an old electric piano out of the storage room.
"My son used to play, but he gave it up. If you'd like, you can use it," Zoe said.
Some keys were busted.
Melody hit middle C, but the sound lagged for a second before it came out.
She just kept her hands on the keys, not moving for ages.
Back then, she thought music only mattered if it was validated by the stage, the spotlights, and the applause.
Now she was in a tiny sixteen-square-meter living room, boxes still half-unpacked, with people yelling outside and someone hanging laundry right under her window.
And in that moment, she felt—if she could press a single key and hear a sound, it meant she was still here.
That night, she made a new account on a music production platform.
Her profile picture was a gray waveform.
Her username was Half Ear.
Her bio had just four words.
Still writing. Still going.