The rehearsal studio smelled like hot lights and old carpet. Cleo stood at the mic in pale pink, ready to be adored.
Daphne stood behind the speaker, where nobody was supposed to look.
Gil: Move in, Daphne. Right behind her shoulder.
Daphne: I'm already behind the speaker.
Gil: Behind her shoulder. Not the speaker.
Gil said it like he was fixing a light. The crew kept working, and nobody looked at Daphne's face.
Gil: She opens her mouth. You sing. She smiles. Simple.
He didn't lower his voice. He never did. The crew was part of the lesson.
Daphne: You want me to sing her song from behind her back.
Gil: Her song. Say that again and I'll make you say it in front of our mother.
Under her sleeve, the countdown on her wrist ticked down. Fifteen days now. It had been sixteen this morning.
The number fell while Gil talked, like a clock punishing her for listening.
Gil: You're a backup voice with a family discount. Act like it.
His hand closed around her wrist. Not hard. Just enough to show the crew who owned what.
Gil: Then you open your mouth when I say, and you close it when she's done.
Somebody in the crew laughed. It was a small laugh, and it landed on her like spit.
Daphne used to wait for that look from Gil. The small nod that said she had earned her place.
Now the look was just a man checking his property before lunch.
Cleo: Daph, please. I can't do it without you. You know I can't.
Cleo's voice wobbled on the word please, pretty as a commercial.
Daphne: Then don't do it.
The room went quiet. Gil's hand tightened on her wrist.
Gil: Last warning. Get behind her, or I make one call and your countdown gets a lot shorter.
The number on her wrist dropped again. Two days gone in one minute.
Daphne looked at the crew, at Cleo's shiny eyes, at her brother's red face.
All her life she had traded her voice for their approval, and the price went up every year.
Daphne: No.
One word. It came out calm, and it felt better than any song she had ever written.
Gil: What did you just say to me?
Daphne: I said no. Sing it yourself.
Cleo: Gil, she can't just leave me up here.
Daphne heard the panic in Cleo's voice. It sounded nothing like her own.
Gil: Walk out that door and you'll wish you hadn't.
The old fear slid off her like a coat she had outgrown.
Whatever he did next, she was done earning their approval. Let them punish her.