I tried so hard to do it all, and I finally dropped a ball I can’t fix.
Aiden doesn’t answer, but he does wrap his arms around me, crushing me to his chest. It’s only after my breathing regulates that he says something.
“That’s Evie’s old costume,” he says quietly. “She keeps them all in storage. And I know the moves, because one night when you had sessions, she lined us all up at her barre and taught us some moves.”
Normally, he’d at least smile at that, but he looks too worried to find the humor.
“I didn’t miss anything,” I whisper, then squeeze my eyes closed.
“You didn’t miss anything,” he repeats, rubbing a hand over my hair. “I’m sorry, Chloe. She wanted to surprise you.”
That lets the tears gathered in the corners of my eyes fall free. “And I’m sitting here making this about me, instead of her. I should be checking in with you?—”
He moves his hands to cradle my face, the roughened pads of his thumbs brushing away my tears. He tips my head enough that I can see him through wet lashes.
“You’ve stood with me in this grief process for weeks, Chloe,” he says gently. “You are allowed to make this about you.”
I shake my head, sniffling. “No, this was Phoebe’s moment.”
“But who gave her the chance to fall in love with ballet?” he whispers. “Who overbooked herself—I’m sure all year long, notjustthe holiday season—to pay for those lessons? You’re allowed to grieve a moment you thought you missed.”
No one’s ever told me that before.
No one’s given me space to feel the cost of running on empty for years, and sit in it.
This is one of the reasons I keep moving—because this emotion feels heavier than I can carry.
Probably because I’ve ignored it for so long.
“I don’t want to miss something, Aiden. I can’t bear the thought of disappointing her like that.” My words spill out on a ragged breath. “This feels awful.”
He presses a gentle, soothing kiss to my lips.
“Before you panicked—before the fear—how did you feel?”
I take a couple of deep, practiced breaths. Inhale for three, exhale for three. And I focus on the mental video in my mind. On the way, Phoebe’s eyes sparkled, and the soft curve of her arms as she moved through her own interpretation of a classical ballet.
“So proud,” I whisper. “I’m sure every mom says this, but she looked like a natural.”
“Evie said the same,” he says, quietly. “What else did you feel? About the whole thing—not just Phoebe?”
I see where he’s going with this. As much as I hate to admit it, observing instead of being the hands and feet of everything felt good. Like I could breathe.
And nothing bad happened.
“You’re right,” I say.
He blinks. “That’s not what I expected you to say. But maybe I heard you wrong. Could you repeat it?”
“No. That was a one-time event,” I tell him, finally feeling good enough to smile again.
“We only have, what, ten more seasons with her at home?” he asks. “It’s okay to want things for her, Chloe. But I don’t want you to miss them, either.”
“You saw that article, too?” I’m sure the shock I feel is written all over my face.
He shrugs. “I might’ve done some late-night reading. Just want to do the dad thing right.” The last words wobble, his voice rough.
“You might want to lower the bar,” I say, moving my hands to clasp around the back of his neck. “You’ll wear yourself out coming out this strong out of the gate.”
