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“Yes.”
“Liar.”
His attention moves from the screen back toward the stage. “I’m working.”
“You’re always working,” I point out.
“So I've been told.”
I study him quietly, taking in the hard line of his mouth, the faint shadows beneath his eyes, and the tension still visible in his broad shoulders despite the ordinary setting around us.
Something happened this morning. I know it. I just don't know what.
Before I can ask questions, the music changes, and Ivy's class takes the stage again. Every worry disappears as soon as I see her beneath the stage lights. She dances beautifully. Not perfectly, because she's six, but beautifully nonetheless.
She misses one step, nearly collides with another little girl, then recovers with such determination that tears sting my eyes.
Beside me, Alexei watches our daughter with an expression so full of pride it nearly undoes me.
Our daughter.
The thought arrives unexpectedly. I don't correct it. Maybe some truths no longer need correcting.
The final number ends to enthusiastic applause throughout the auditorium. Children burst into motion while teachers begin organizing dismissal. Parents rise from their seats, gathering purses, jackets, and younger siblings.
The ordinary noise of family life returns all around us. For a few precious moments, everything feels safe.
The final applause has barely faded before chaos begins.
At first, it feels ordinary. Children pour out of the backstage doors in noisy waves while parents crowd the aisles collecting dance bags, water bottles, and forgotten sweaters. Teachers attempt to organize dismissal while answering questions from a dozen directions at once. The entire auditorium buzzes with the madness that follows any event involving small children.
Normal dance rehearsal mayhem.
I see Ivy in the crowd. She's running toward us with Sophie beside her, both girls flushed with excitement and still wearing matching sparkly headbands.
“Maggie!” Ivy squeals.
She launches herself at me hard enough to nearly knock me backward. Laughing, I catch her against my chest and hug her tightly before putting her down.
“Miss Hannah said I remembered all my turns,” she announces proudly.
“You absolutely did.” I adjust her sparkly headband. “You were amazin’.”
“I only forgot one thing.”
“Baby, everybody forgets things sometimes.”
“No.” Ivy shakes her head with complete seriousness. “It's because Sophie distracted me.”
Beside her, Sophie gasps. “I did not.”
“You did too.”
“I was sneezing,” Sophie insists, folding her arms.
“You sneezed during my turn,” Ivy says.
“Sophie,” Sophie's father says with an amused smile as he approaches. “Time to go.”
