Ethan would’ve known what to do.
He always did.
He’d been the calm when I spun out, and the warmth that drew Ava out of her shell. He made the world feel safe. And then, one terrible night, he was gone. A heart attack. One year later, and I still half expected him to walk through the door, smelling like sawdust and coffee, grinning that lopsided grin that had always undone me.
I missed him so much it still felt like a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing.
The door creaked softly. Ava slipped in, her oversized headphones glowing faintly in the dark. Without a word, she padded across the room and climbed into bed beside me.
I lifted the blanket, and she curled into my side, small and solid, her head resting against my shoulder.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured, voice muffled by fabric.
“Me either,” I whispered.
Her hand found mine under the blanket. I squeezed, just once, and she relaxed into me.
For a few moments, there was nothing but the sound of her steady breathing and the faint hum of her music through the headphones.
We were both trying to find a new normal.
And maybe, just maybe, this was the first step.
2
ELEANOR
My mother sat next to me in the admissions office of St. Agatha’s, posture impeccable, her pearl necklace catching the morning light like a silent warning. Across from us, the headmistress smiled the kind of tight, professional smile that promisedpolite disapproval if necessary.
Ava sat between us, half-turned toward the window. Her headphones rested around her neck, her fingers tapping a rhythm on her thigh. A silent drumbeat that kept her anchored.
“Of course,” the headmistress was saying, “we value individuality here at St. Agatha’s.” She said it was like individuality was an elective, not a birthright.
“That’s why we thought it might be a wonderful fit,” my mother chimed in, voice honey-sweet. “Eleanor’s daughter is very bright. She just needs . . . structure.”
There it was. That word again.Structure.The polite code forfix her.
I smiled through my teeth. “We appreciate you taking the time to meet us.”
The headmistress nodded and motioned toward the window overlooking the playground. “Why don’t we let Ava join the others for a bit? It will give us a chance to chat.”
Ava hesitated. Her gaze flitted to me, asking without words if she had to.
“It’s okay, honey,” I said softly. “Just for a little while.”
She slid off her chair, headphones snugly back over her ears, and followed a woman in a plaid skirt out the door.
The silence that followed felt heavier than it should’ve.
“So,” the headmistress said, folding her hands on the desk, “tell me a little about Ava’s interests.”
I hesitated. “She loves art. And stories. And anything spooky, really, Halloween decorations, bats, skeletons, you name it.”
My mother’s smile didn’t falter, but I could feel her stiffen beside me. “She’s . . . imaginative,” she added quickly.
“Yes,” I said, eyes still on the headmistress. “She’s got a unique way of seeing the world.”
“I see,” said the woman with a curt nod. “Here we offer art courses she would be able to take that are age-appropriate, of course. We do, however, hold our academics to a high standard. I’m looking over her transcripts, and I do worry she may be a little behind.”
