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I take a step forward.

Then another.

Without realizing it, I let go of Mom’s hand and walk toward the ice.

“Artemis, baby, where are you going?” Mom calls, worry creeping into her voice.

She always worries when I wander off on my own.

Dad catches up almost immediately.

“You’ll freeze, mia figlia,” he says gently. “Let’s go home.”

But I don’t stop or turn around.

My eyes remain fixed on the frozen surface glowing beneath thousands of tiny lights.

The girl spins again, laughing as if nothing in the world could ever hurt her.

I lift my hand and point toward the rink.

“I want to go there.”

The words leave my mouth quietly, yet they feel monumental. Like the first sentence of a song that has already been written.

The closer I get, the prettier the ice becomes. Tiny lights hang overhead, reflecting across the frozen surface like stars trapped beneath glass.

So pretty.

An older man stands nearby, his short, salt-and-pepper hair framing kind brown eyes that crinkle when he smiles. A strawberry-red winter hat sits crookedly on his head, matching the one worn by the girl on the ice.

Dad immediately steps in front of me, towering and protective.

The older man doesn’t seem bothered. If anything, he looks amused.

He gives Dad a polite nod before crouching until we’re eye level.

Then he asks a question that changes my life forever.

“Would you like to fly, sunshine?”

I blink.

“Fly?” I repeat flatly.

His crooked smile widens.

“That’s what my granddaughter, Stevie, calls it.” He points toward the little girl dancing across the ice. “Flying on ice.”

My eyes follow her.

She spins beneath the lights, her red hair catching the glow.

She doesn’t look real.

She looks like something from a fairy tale.

Flying.