But all I could think about was Eleanor. Back there somewhere in the wings with her mother and sister in the audience, feeling who-knew-what.
And wishing I could be the one to make it better.
The second act flew by in a blur of lights and costumes and tiny, determined performers. Leo nailed every line. The audience erupted each time a kid stepped into their moment, and the energy grew and grew until it felt like the whole theater was vibrating.
And then the final chords hit.
The entire cast moved into formation, faces bright, eyes shining. The audience clapped along as the kids belted the first chorus with all the joy and chaos you'd expect from fifty neurodivergent children giving it everything they had.
Halfway through the second verse, the stage manager waved to the wings.
And suddenly, past Penguin Project performers, kids from last year, the year before, some now in their twenties, rushed the stage, joining hands, joining voices.
Leo sang with his whole heart, half-yelling the words, half-flapping with excitement.
I scrubbed at my eyes quickly, blinking hard.
Belle leaned over me and whispered, “Don’t fight it.”
Mel nodded solemnly. “Just let the feelings come.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, wiping my face again.
But they were right. It was beautiful.
When the curtain fell and the applause shook the room, I practically sprinted to the backstage hallway. Kids were everywhere, hugging, yelling, jumping, and losing costume pieces left and right.
And then?—
“DAD!”
Leo barreled into me at full speed. I wrapped my arms around him and lifted him off the ground, spinning him once before setting him down.
“You were incredible,” I said.
He beamed up at me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “I DID IT! I sang really big!”
“You did,” I said, cupping the side of his head. “You were amazing. I’m so, so proud of you.”
He preened, then immediately darted off toward Ava, who waited quietly in her costume. They high-fived, and my heart squeezed.
That’s when I spotted Eleanor.
She was still in costume-wrangling mode, holding a sparkling headpiece, her braid messy from the night, cheeks pink from running around backstage.
She looked beautiful.
I made my way to her, weaving around excited kids.
“Hey,” I said softly.
She looked up, and her smile was there, but thin, tight around the edges. “Hi.”
I leaned in a little, keeping my voice low. “I need to tell you something before you see them.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Them?”
“Your mom. And Stacey.” I hesitated. “We ran into them at intermission.”
