“How is she handling that?”
“Better than I expected. She visited him once in prison, told him she forgave him but wouldn’t be back, and then just… moved forward.” I shake my head. “She’s stronger than all of us.”
“Runs in the family.” Jake nudges my shoulder. “Speaking of family, Cole mentioned something about Tommy’s birthday party next month?”
“Six years old. He wants a dinosaur theme, naturally.” I pull up photos on my tablet. “We’re doing it at the house. Nothing fancy, just his class and some family.”
“And by family, you mean the circus you live with?”
“That circus is your best friends.”
“I know. Doesn’t make it less weird.” But he’s smiling. “Although watching Marco try to assemble a dinosaur piñata should be entertaining.”
Theo jogs over, carrying a box of programs. “Rachel, these are ready to hand out. Where do you want them?”
“Information table, right by the entrance. Thanks.”
He drops a quick kiss on my cheek before heading off. Jake doesn’t even blink anymore.
Progress.
My phone buzzes. A text from Cole:Tommy’s teacher just emailed. He got student of the month. Again.
I feel that familiar swell of pride. Tommy’s reading above grade level now, making friends easily, happy in a way that makes my chest ache with gratitude. His teacher stopped me last week to say she’s never seen a child with such a strong support system.
Three father figures, she’d said. He’s very lucky.
I’d corrected her gently:We’rethe lucky ones.
The festival opens at noon, and by twelve-fifteen, the town square is packed. Families wandering between booths, kids running wild with painted faces, the smell of kettle corn and barbecue thick in the air.
I watch it all from my position near the main stage, checking the details and making sure everything runs smoothly. This is mine. My business, my event, my reputation built from nothing but determination and Dorothy’s impossible network of connections.
Morgan Events has ten clients now, with three more booked through the summer. I hired an assistant last month—Emma from the café, who needed work after the owners decided not to rebuild. We meet in my home office, plan events at the kitchen table, and somehow make it work.
It’s not stable yet. Not guaranteed. But it’s mine, and that matters more than I expected it to.
“Excuse me, are you Rachel Morgan?”
I turn to find a woman I don’t recognize, probably mid-thirties, holding a toddler on her hip.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I just wanted to say thank you for organizing this. My daughter’s been talking about the festival for weeks.” She shifts the toddler. “And I wanted to tell you—I think what you’re doing is brave. With your family, I mean. People talk, but I think it’s wonderful that you’re showing kids that families can look different and still be full of love.”
My throat gets tight. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
She smiles and disappears into the crowd.
I’m still processing that when Cole appears, Tommy is on his shoulders. “Dad Cole says I can have cotton candy now because I ate three whole carrot sticks.”
“Three whole carrot sticks?” I raise an eyebrow at Cole.
“He negotiated hard.” Cole lifts Tommy down. “Go find Dad Theo. He’s at the cotton candy booth.”
Tommy takes off running, and Cole wraps an arm around my waist. “You did well here. This whole thing—it’s impressive.”
“It’s organized chaos.”
