I tip my chin, even though my stomach is in knots. She's right. I have worked hard for this. Countless hours, aching muscles, pushing myself harder each time.
I think my biggest reason for my inner spiralling is knowing Elijah is out there.
It's ridiculous because that man has seen me in far too many different positions when naked, so this should be a cakewalk.
But it matters because it's him.
“You're right. It's just… It's been a long time since I performed in front of a crowd.”
My shoulders droop, and I can’t shake the quiet heaviness in my chest—the first of many performances I’ll face without my dad cheering from the audience.
“They're going to love you, Willow. And you look beautiful.”
I peer at the curtain not far from us. The music is winding down, and I know it's my turn next. My gaze drops to myself, taking in the outfit, and I can't help but smile.
The dress is a deep, royal purple that seems to drink in the light. The bodice is fitted perfectly, sculpting my chest and waist, adorned with an intricate silver floral motif that winds delicately around my midsection. Two slender straps sit elegantly on my shoulders, while two longer, silk-like ribbons drape from them, flowing down my arms like liquid.
The skirt flares gently from my hips, stopping just at my upper thighs, the fabric whispering and shimmering as though dusted with starlight. My hair is pulled into a tight bun with a thick plait wound round it. Tiny purple blossoms are woven through the braid, dainty accents that soften the strong lines of my hairstyle, adding a touch of whimsy to the elegance.
It is beautiful.
“Thank you.”
She squeezes my hand briefly, then slips it into her pocket and pulls out a neatly folded envelope. “Elijah said to give this to you. Figured you'd need it.”
I take it from her, feeling the weight of it in my hand. My name is written messily on the front, and in brackets beside it: Your first dance.
I look up, and she gives me a wink. “Break a leg. I’ll see you out there.”
She leaves me alone, and I can't help but feel nervous.
Everything inside me trembles as I unfold the letter. I hadn't opened my birthday one yet because I didn't want to be down while spending the weekend with Elijah, and honestly, I’d already cried enough after visiting him. I dab at my eyes lightly, careful not to ruin my makeup, and begin to read.
Willow,
I won't be surprised if this is the first of my letters you actually read, because I know how much dancing means to you. It's who you are. You were pirouetting before you could even walk properly, and I've always loved watching you do what you love. It's the thing that made me feel alive. So, watching the joy drain out of you when you gave it up to look after me? That broke my grumpy old heart. Actually, scratch that. I’m young as hell. Still, I never wanted that for you. I wanted you to live your teenage life, not be burdened by your sick dad.
I’m proud of you, Willow, and if you've read this far without crying all over the page like I did, it means you finally put on those gross-smelling ballet shoes and decided to dance again. That makes me happier than you'll ever know. Just know, I’ll always be in the crowd cheering you on; there's nowhere else I’d rather be.
I know this will make you sad. I’m sad writing it, too. Not just because I hate writing letters, but because I know you will shut down when I’m gone and start blaming yourself. You've always had trouble with your feelings because you care so much and, for some reason, have trouble letting people in. I don't want you to be alone, so please let someone in. Fall in love. Laugh. Live. Because the thought of you being lonely is worse than anything I have ever felt.
And one more thing—remember to keep going for the people in your life, even if it's hard sometimes. Shine on that stage you're about to step onto and show the world exactly how damn incredible my daughter is.
Make me proud, little one. I love you, and I’ll see you in another life.
Dad xxx
I sniffle, a hot tear falling onto the page. I scrunch my eyes shut, clutch the letter to my chest where my necklace is, and swallow hard to push down the rock in my throat.
I miss him so much it hurts, but I really needed that letter. There's a strange kind of peace that comes from knowing my dad is still with me, even if it's not in the way I want. Every move I make, every step I take, I want to make him proud. And right now, I have someone else in my life, too. Someone who makes it easier to live, to keep going, and to fully embrace my life without feeling like I’m a shell of myself.
My name is called. Heart beating hard, I carefully tucked the letter back into its envelope and set it on one of the tables. I take a deep breath, standing by the curtains, summoning every ounce of confidence I have and willing it into my body.
The curtain rises, and the lights strike me like a wall, blinding me—but in a way, it’s helpful. I can't see anyone in the crowd, and that helps with the nerves. All I need to know is that Elijah is here physically, and my dad is here in spirit.
The applause starts almost immediately as I walk to the centre of the stage, the spotlight landing squarely on me. I don’t look at the audience; instead, I concentrate on the words from my dad's letter circling in my mind, fueling me.
The first notes of Lose You to Love Me by Selena Gomez float through the theatre, and I let the music take over. Every movement, every turn, every extension of my body feels purposeful and alive. I dance not just for the crowd, but for myself and for him.
