The gym was exactly how I pictured it—humid with body heat, the scent of popcorn and old wax clinging to the air. Metal chairs clattered as parents shifted and clapped. A row of kids in their Sunday best filed off the risers, faces glowing, some waving frantically at the crowd.
Winnie was in the middle.
Her wild hair poking in all directions, cheeks flushed pink, eyes scanning the audience.
She was smiling. Proud. Brave.
But there was that little flicker—so quick most people wouldn’t have caught it. That quick drop of her smile as she looked to the spot next to her mother.
Where I should’ve been.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
Then she spotted me, just as she stepped off the riser. Her face didn’t crumple. Winnie was tougher than that, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes this time. Not quite.
When she looked away, it wasn’t sulking or pouting. It was worse. It was quiet disappointment. The kind that sat still and waited, hoping no one noticed the ache blooming in her chest.
Across the room, just past a cluster of parents, I saw Selene.
Her back was ramrod straight, her fingers laced in her lap. Her coat was draped over the back of the folding chair beside her—the one she’d saved.
The one I never made it to.
Her expression shifted when she saw me. Something in her shoulders flinched, then softened, like she didn’t know which reaction would hurt less.
She didn’t frown or scowl, but she didn’t smile, either, and for the first time in weeks, I didn’t know what came next.
I missed it.
I missed the song. Her solo. The way Winnie’s excited eyes searched the crowd for her people. The chance to prove—for once—that the people who loved her would show up when it mattered.
I didn’t have an excuse. At least not one that was enough.
Sure, I had finally got what I wanted—a connection with my brother, a piece of my dad’s past, something that felt like belonging.
But it still wasn’t enough.
Not when the thing that mattered most was walking off the stage, wondering why I hadn’t been there to see her shine.
THIRTY-TWO
SELENE
He’d missed it.He’d really, truly missed it.
An ache gripped my heart as realization washed over me. The past few minutes played over in my mind like a blur.
A hush had pulled through the gym like a drawn breath as the concert waited to begin. The chaotic rustle of candy wrappers and folding chairs fell still. Parents leaned forward. Programs crackled quietly in their laps. Someone’s perfume hung sweet and powdery in the air, mixing with the sharper tang of disinfectant and warm metal bleachers. The faint squeak of sneakers echoed from behind the curtain.
Beside me, the seat had stayed empty.
I sat up straighter, smoothing the hem of my dress over my knees even though I hadn’t moved. My palms were folded together, tight and deliberate, the way you press your fingers in prayer—not to ask for anything, just to anchor yourself in place.
The stage lights flared a soft amber. A teacher’s voice came over the mic, cheerful and a little too loud, announcing the start of the kindergarten medley.
I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until the curtain finally opened.
My smile bloomed when I saw her. Front row, second from the end. Sparkly boots. Sequined cardigan. Ponytail bouncing with the beat of the opening chords.
