It wasn’t much.
But it was a start.
That night,the house was quiet. Even the clock in the hallway seemed to tick more softly, like it was giving us a reprieve.
I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, Belle’s voice still echoing in my mind —They pair every kid with a mentor. It’s magic.
The door creaked open. Ava padded in, clutching her blanket like a shield.
“Hey, bug,” I whispered. “Can’t sleep?”
She shook her head. “I had a weird dream.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” she said simply, climbing into bed beside me. “Just talk about something else.”
I smiled and shifted to make room, her small form curling into my side. “Okay . . . what should we talk about?”
“Tell me something good,” she murmured.
I thought for a moment. “Belle told me about a program today. It’s called The Penguin Project. They do plays with kids who have disabilities. This year they’re performingCinderella.”
Ava lifted her head a little. “Cinderella?”
“Yeah. The one with the glass slipper and the pumpkin carriage.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Too sparkly.”
I bit back a laugh. “Maybe. But you’d get to see how it all works behind the scenes. The costumes, the rehearsals, the acting . . . ”
She tilted her head, thinking it over. “Are the ugly stepsisters in it?”
“Of course.”
A small smile tugged at her mouth. “I like them better.”
“Because they’re mean?” I teased.
“Because they’re weird,” she said simply. “They don’t pretend to be nice. Everyone pretends all the time.”
The truth in her words hit me harder than I expected. I brushed a hand through her hair.
Ava settled back down, voice muffled against my shoulder. “Maybe we could go see it.”
“Maybe you could be in it,” I whispered. “Belle said it’s special.”
She didn’t answer, just reached up, tapped the side of her headphones, and closed her eyes.
I lay there in the dark, listening to her breathe, my heart full of something that wasn’t quite peace but close enough.
5
ELEANOR
The wipers squeaked across the windshield, pushing away a thin drizzle that made the world look blurred and uncertain, which felt about right for how I was feeling. From the passenger seat, Ava fiddled with her headphones, twisting the cord of her hoodie between her fingers. Her backpack sat in her lap, the top just barely unzipped so she could reach the tiny bat keychain clipped to the zipper. She squeezed it over and over like a talisman.
“You sure you don’t want to listen to music?” I asked.
