Across the room, Leo bounced in place, flapping his hands with excitement. Becca sighed. “Okay, I'd better go continue my reign of backstage chaos management.”
“Good luck,” I said with a grin.
“You too!”
She hurried off, blending into the whirl of kids and volunteers.
The lights in the house dimmed to half-darkness, the telltale sign that we were minutes away from curtain. My stomach fluttered with nerves for the kids. For Ava.
Speaking of . . . A small presence pressed into my side.
I looked down.
Ava stood there in her costume, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes bright, hands tucked into her sleeves. Before I could speak, she leaned in and hugged me.
A hug. A public hug. Rare and precious.
I cupped the back of her head and kissed her hairline, soaking the moment in like sunlight. “Break a leg, baby.”
She pulled back and gave me a tiny smile, the kind that only showed up when she felt safe. “Thanks, Mom.”
Then she turned and followed the rest of the cast toward their places as the stage manager called out, “Places! PLACES!”
The house lights dimmed to black.
A hush fell over the theater.
And then, just like that, it was showtime.
30
ALEX
The auditorium buzzed like a beehive. Programs rustled. Kids shouted for their friends across the seats. Parents crowded in with phones ready to capture every moment.
I slipped into the front section, scanning the seats until I spotted Mel waving both arms like she was bringing in a plane. Belle sat beside her, fanning her face with the program.
“There he is!” Mel called as I maneuvered down the row. “Dad of the Hour!”
Belle sniffed dramatically. “I swear I’m not going to cry. Except I already am.”
I sank into the seat beside them, laughing. “We haven’t even started.”
“But my baby is in a PLAY,” Belle said with a wobbling voice. “On a STAGE.”
“Your baby isn’t even in the show,” Mel deadpanned.
Belle glared. “Let me feel feelings.”
I shook my head, already grinning. “You two are unhinged.”
Mel elbowed me lightly. “You excited?”
I didn’t bother hiding it. “Extremely.”
Pride swelled in my chest. Leo had worked so hard. He’d practiced his lines until he could say them backward. He’d been practicing his bow in front of his mirror every night.
My son was going to be on stage, not me, and yet I could barely sit still.
