A song begun in 1912. A soul that remembers. A love that never left.

Thomas Avery boards the RMS Titanic as a working musician—a husband, a father, a man who folds his shirt before he touches his violin. Crossing the Atlantic is just a job. Home is what matters.

In the quiet hours after the wealthy passengers retire and the corridors go still, Thomas begins to compose. What starts as a love song for his wife Christine—tender, intimate, written in the language of ten years of marriage—slowly transforms into something more. A lullaby. The melody shifts the way Thomas's own heart shifts when he thinks of his children: softer, slower, full of the particular ache of a father far from home.

He plays it for the other musicians one night, almost apologetically. He doesn't expect what happens next. Because every man in that room is carrying the same thing in his coat pocket—a photograph, a letter, a name he whispers before he sleeps. Thomas's unfinished song reaches straight into all of it—until eight strangers are playing music that sounds like home.

They are still playing when the Titanic goes down.

A century later, archivist Elias Mercer opens a recovered violin case and begins playing notes he has never seen written anywhere—grieving a woman named Christine as though he loved her himself.

Thomas Avery never made it home. But some things refuse to stay lost at the bottom of the ocean.

When I Get Home is still playing.