We weren't.
"Ms. Reed?" A small voice. "Are you okay?"
I blinked. Sofia was staring up at me, a purple sequin pinched between her fingers.
"I'm perfect, sweetheart." I smoothed my expression into something cheerful. "Just thinking about how beautiful everyone's cards are going to be."
Fourteen months. I still counted.
Fourteen months since I'd packed a single suitcase and fled the city. Fourteen months since the phone call that cleaved my life into before and after. The ranger's voice had been gentle, professional.An accident on the trail. I'm so sorry.
Lily. My baby sister. The fearless, reckless girl I'd practically raised after Mom died. She'd gone hiking alone, and I tried warning her so many times. The very thing she loved ended her life. We never saw her smile again after her body vanished into the mountainside.
"Ms. Reed, can you open this?" Tommy held up a glue stick, his small face scrunched with effort.
"Of course, honey." I twisted off the cap and handed it back. "There you go. Show that card who's boss."
I kept moving. Smile. Breathe. Don't think about it.
But the memories pressed in anyway. Saturday mornings at the Spencer Literacy Foundation, kneeling on bright carpet squares while a circle of children hung on my every word. I loved that place. It was a haven built by Elena Spencer, a teacher with a gift for making every child feel seen. Death was cruel and took her too soon, but I was happy that her husband chose to keep the foundation running, and I was very proud of how Anna and Margaret had turned it into something beautiful.
I had volunteered as a storyteller there. I'd brought dragons and pirates and talking animals to life for kids who needed magic. I'd helped organize puppet shows and author visits. The smell of old books and little-kid shampoo. The weight of a child climbing into my lap, trusting me completely.
Anna's last email sat unopened in my inbox. Three weeks now. I couldn't bear to see what they'd built without me—couldn't stand the reminder of the person I used to be.
"Okay, everyone!" I clapped my hands, pulling myself back to the present. "Let's get started! Find your seats with your mothers, and we'll begin our masterpieces!"
Chairs scraped. Voices rose and fell. I circulated, admiring works-in-progress, dispensing compliments and extra glitter.
But my eyes kept returning to Sarah's empty desk.
The clock read 10:15. The event started at 10:00. Maybe she wasn’t coming. Maybe I'd need to?—
"Ms. Reed! Ms. Reed!"
A small, warm weight slammed into my legs. Two arms wrapped around my thighs in a fierce hug, and I looked down into Sarah Brennan's upturned face, bright with an excitement I'd never seen from her before.
"Well, hello there." I placed a hand on her soft hair, relief and affection flooding through me. "You made it. I saved the good glitter for you."
"I brought someone!" She was practically vibrating. "Come see, come see!"
She grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the door with surprising strength. I followed, expecting… I don't know what I was expecting. A grandmother, maybe. An aunt.
I was not expectinghim.
Beside Sarah stood an overwhelmingly tall, broad-shouldered man who looked like he'd rather fight a bear than face a room full of loud, cheery kids.
My brain, usually so reliable, went completely offline.
He seemed carved from the mountain itself—and I mean that literally. Rough-hewn, weathered, immovable. He towered over the cheerful chaos of my classroom in faded jeans and a red-and-black flannel shirt rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms that suggested he spent his days wrestling timber into submission.
Dark hair, cut short. A jaw that could have been chiseled from granite. And his eyes, a piercing, glacial blue that scanned the room with the wary alertness of someone expecting an ambush, or fearing any random approach.
He was so utterly out of place that the effect was almost comical. The alphabet border behind him looked comically small. The tiny chairs seemed like dollhouse furniture. He stood with his massive hand on Sarah's small shoulder, protective and slightly desperate, a grizzly bear who'd accidentally wandered into a kindergarten tea party.
"This is my Uncle Cole!" Sarah announced, her chest puffing with pride. "He's the best!"
Uncle Cole looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
