Lily ran to her and Sarah caught her in a hug, both of them laughing in that effortless way that made everything feel lighter. I stood there watching them, and something warm settled in my chest.
“I’ll drive,” I said. “If that’s alright.”
Sarah looked at me with surprise flickering across her face. “You sure? I can take her if you’re busy.”
“I need to be there.” Even if the thought of it made my stomach twist. The words came out steady, certain, even though fear coiled tight in my stomach. “I need to be there.”
The drive to the studio took twenty minutes through the traffic. Lily sat in the back seat clutching her new ballet shoes, and Sarah sat in the passenger seat beside me. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles went white, anchoring myself to the present. trying to focus on the present moment instead of the past that kept trying to drag me under.
This was different. This wasn’t that day. This was now, and Lily was safe, and nothing bad was going to happen.
My hands stayed locked on the wheel anyway.
“You okay?” Sarah asked quietly.
“Fine.” A lie she didn’t call me on.
She gave me a look that said she knew I was lying but would let me have the pretense. I was grateful for that, for her understanding that sometimes people needed to pretend they were fine until they actually were.
The dance studio was on the second floor of an old building that had been converted into artist spaces. When we reached the studio and stepped inside, I was struck by how different it was from what I’d been imagining.
The space was bright and open, sunlight pouring through wide windows. Mirrors lined one wall, a barre ran along theother. Other children were already there—girls around Lily’s age in various shades of pink and purple leotards. A few parents stood near an observation window, chatting quietly while their daughters warmed up.
The young woman from that day—the one who’d gotten Lily dancing in my home—spotted us immediately. She came over wearing a smile. “There’s my star student! Ready for real class?”
Lily nodded, though I saw her fingers tighten on her bag.
“You’re going to do great,” the instructor said, kneeling down to Lily’s level. “And your dad’s going to watch from right over there, okay? He’s not going anywhere.”
Lily looked at me, and I nodded. “I’ll be right here the whole time.” I needed her to believe that—needed to believe it myself.
She took a breath and followed the instructor to where the other girls were warming up. Sarah moved to stand by the observation window with her phone ready, and I joined her.
The music started. Something classical and gentle—the kind of piece that felt like sunlight through leaves. The instructor moved through basic positions with the class, and Lily followed along.
“She’s really good,” Sarah whispered beside me, her phone already recording.
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but watch my daughter move through positions I’d thought I’d never see again. Her face was serious, concentrated, but as she mastered each movement, small flickers of joy broke through.
The instructor demonstrated a turn, and Lily attempted it. She wobbled slightly, caught herself, tried again.
“Come on,” Sarah breathed beside me, so quiet I almost missed it.
Lily tried a third time. This one was smoother. Absolutely beautiful.
“Did you see that?” The words escaped before I could stop them.
“I saw it.” Sarah was wiping her eyes with her free hand while still recording with the other.
“She’s incredible, Hector.”
The other girls clapped for Lily, and the instructor praised her form with genuine enthusiasm. My daughter’s face broke into a smile. My chest felt too full. Pride swelled there, making it hard to breathe,
“When I was seven,” Sarah said quietly, still watching Lily, “my mom took me to see The Nutcracker. We couldn’t afford good seats, so we sat in the very back. But I remember thinking the dancers looked like they were flying.” She paused. “That’s what Lily looks like right now. Like she’s learning to fly again.”
I turned to look at her.
Sarah was watching my daughter with tears in her eyes, her whole expression was open, vulnerable in a way that made my chest throb.
