A family.
A shape my hands still remembered.
A shape my heart had once lived in like it was permanent.
Haille, of course, had been ecstatic. Ever since Wednesday, she’d been repeating Family Day like it was a spell. Something magical that meant balloons, dancing, and unlimited snacks.
When Saturday morning finally arrived, she didn’t even give me time to get ready.
“Mommy! We go now!” she announced, bouncing in place, wearing her shirt inside out and dragging her little backpack so hard it almost scraped the floor.
I laughed as I caught the strap before she could trip over it. “Hang on, baby. Mommy needs to get things ready first.”
She looked at me as if I’d said something absurd, something completely unreasonable.
I changed her quickly—plain white shirt, blue leggings—and tied her hair into two small pigtails that made her look even tinier than she already was. Thankfully, she didn’t argue about her outfit. I told her that her friends were wearing something similar, and she accepted it like it was sacred law.
I dressed myself in something simple, but not careless. A black-and-white striped shirt and jeans. My ash-brown hair pulled into a low ponytail. Minimal makeup—enough to make me look awake, not enough to look like I was trying.
I needed to look like a mother at a daycare event. Not a woman stepping into a cruel imitation of a happy family portrait with her ex-husband.
And finally, when everything was ready and I’d reassured myself for the third time that nothing had been left behind, I buckled Haille into her car seat, started the engine, and drove.
The daycare wasn’t far, yet by the time we arrived, the field behind the building was already full. The air buzzed with voices and laughter. Parents hauled picnic blankets and folding chairs from their trunks. Children ran wild across the grass like tiny hurricanes, fueled by sugar and freedom. Teachers walked around wearing colorful lanyards, calling names with that bright, patient cheerfulness they probably saved for days like this.
“MOMMYYYY!” Haille squealed, pointing so aggressively her whole arm shook. “LOOK!”
I smiled. “We have to sign in first.”
She tugged at my fingers anyway, impatient, like the world might disappear if she didn’t reach it fast enough. Thankfully, the registration line wasn’t too long. After signing in, we were given small wristbands, and before I could properly thank the teacher, Haille was already dragging me toward the field as if I were her personal escort.
The first ten minutes passed in a blur.
Haille ran from booth to booth, shouting with delight when she spotted the bubble machine, then bouncing impatiently in line for cotton candy and laughing so hard her whole body folded in on itself as a clown twisted balloon animals into ridiculous shapes.
And then I heard his voice. Not loud, not sharp—just... familiar in a way that reached straight into muscle memory.
“Elena.”
My heartbeat stumbled before my mind even caught up.
I turned.
Adrian stood a few steps away, looking casually put together the way he always did. A white polo with thin stripes. Khakishorts that hit his knees. Sunglasses tucked neatly into the collar of his shirt. He looked like the version of himself that had always been easy to admire—the steady one. The composed one. The one who never looked like life could shake him.
We stared at each other for a second too long, and I hated how my body still reacted, like it recognized him before my brain remembered it shouldn’t.
“Hi,” I said, forcing the word out like it was just another greeting.
“Hi,” he replied, his voice calmer than the noise around us.
Then his gaze shifted down toward Haille, and it was like the rest of the world disappeared. His expression changed instantly. Melted into something warm.
Haille noticed a moment later.
“DADDYYY!”
She let go of my hand without hesitation and ran straight to him. Her pigtails bounced. Her glittery sandals flashed under the sunlight. Pure joy carried her forward like gravity itself answered to her.
