Chapter 10
Maya
I was going to be enough. I had to be.
That's what I told myself as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, curling iron in hand, trying to make my hair do something other than hang limply around my face. I’d been telling myself that for thirteen years. Tonight wouldn’t be any different.
Mrs. Patterson's voice from this morning echoed in my head. She'd found me in the hallway before first period, that pitying smile already in place. How sweet that you're taking Zoe yourself.
I wrapped another section of hair around the barrel, counted to ten, and pushed her words down where they couldn’t reach me.
Zoe and I had gone dress shopping the previous weekend. She'd found a pink dress with a flared skirt that made her look older than thirteen, and I'd had to blink back tears in the dressing room while she twirled in front of the mirror. My baby. Growing up too fast.
I'd bought a dress too. Maroon, simple, nothing fancy.
I told myself it was for Zoe, so she wouldn't be embarrassed showing up with a mom in jeans.
But part of me wanted to feel pretty tonight.
Wanted to feel seen. To feel like more than just the tired teacher.
The single mom. The woman who was always running on empty.
The curling iron beeped. I set it down and studied my reflection.
We could do this. Me and Zoe against the world. The way it had always been.
Zoe was in her room getting ready, and I could hear her music playing through the door, something upbeat and poppy that I didn't recognize.
I was putting on earrings when the music stopped.
Then I hear her crying.
I crossed the apartment in seconds and knocked on Zoe's door. "Honey? Can I come in?"
No answer. Just muffled sobs.
I opened the door.
Zoe was sitting on the edge of her bed in her pink dress, mascara running down her cheeks, her hands twisted in her lap. She looked up when I came in, and her face completely crumpled.
"I can't do it," she said. "Mom, I can't. I thought I could, but I can't."
I sat beside her, pulled her into my arms. She buried her face against my shoulder, her whole body shaking.
"What happened, baby? Talk to me."
"Everyone's going to laugh at me." Her voice was muffled, broken. "All the other girls are going with their dads. Real dads. And I'm going with my mom because my dad doesn't even remember my birthday half the time."
My heart cracked down the middle.
"Zoe—"
"Madison's dad is taking her. And Sophie's dad. And even Chloe, whose parents are divorced, her dad flew in from Chicago just for this." She pulled back, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
I cupped her face in my hands. Wiped the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs.
“You have me,” I said. “You’ve always had me. Always.”
"I know." Her voice cracked, but she held my gaze.
"And I know you've been everything for me, Mom.
You've been both. Mom and Dad. For my whole life.
And I love you for that. I do." She took a shaky breath.
"But tonight... I just can't pretend it doesn't hurt.
Seeing all the other girls with their dads.
Knowing mine couldn't be bothered to show up even once.
" She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
"It's not your fault. None of this is your fault.
I just... I can't do it tonight. I'm sorry. "
I pulled her close again. Pressed my lips to her hair.
"You don't have to apologize," I whispered. "Not ever. Not for this."
"I know you wanted to go. I know you bought that dress—"
"It's just a dress, baby. It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." Her voice was small. "I wanted to be brave enough. For you."
My throat tightened. Thirteen years old and already carrying guilt that wasn't hers to carry.
"You are brave," I said. "The bravest person I know. And if you want to stay home, we stay home. No guilt. No apologies. Just us."
I pulled her close again and just held her.
She nodded against my shoulder. Sniffled.
I held my daughter in her pink dress and felt the weight of every failure, every absence, every moment I couldn't fill the space her father had left behind.
Then there was a knock at the door.
I wasn't expecting anyone.
I wiped my own eyes quickly, smoothed my dress, and crossed the apartment. Probably a neighbor. Or Millie, checking in.
I opened the door.
Shane stood in the hallway.
He was wearing a navy suit, white shirt open at the collar, looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine. In his hands were two bouquets of flowers. One with red roses. One with pink tulips.
My brain refused to catch up with what I was seeing.
"Shane?"
His eyes found mine, then traveled downward. The dress. The heels. The hair I'd actually managed to curl. He went still, and I felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, warm on my skin.
"Maya." His voice came out rough. He cleared his throat. "You look... amazing."
"What are you doing here?"
"Where's Zoe?"
Before I could answer, I heard footsteps behind me. Zoe had come out of her room, drawn by the voices. She stood in the hallway in her pink dress, face tear-streaked, mascara smudged, clutching a wad of tissues.
Shane's expression shifted. Understanding. Then something harder. Determination.
He stepped past me into the apartment. Walked straight to Zoe. And then, without hesitation, he dropped to one knee in front of her.
Zoe stared at him, eyes wide.
Shane held out the pink tulips.
"Hey, Zoe." His voice was gentle. Steady. "I know I'm not your dad. But I was wondering... would you like to go to the dance with me?"
Zoe's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Are you serious?"
"Completely."
"But..." She shook her head, like she was trying to clear it. "Why?"
Shane's throat moved. When he spoke, his voice was rough.
"Because you deserve someone who shows up. And I'd really like to be that person." He paused. "If you'll let me."
The apartment was silent. I could hear my own heartbeat, loud and uneven.
Zoe looked at the flowers. At Shane. At me.
Then she reached out and took the tulips.
"Okay," she said. Her voice was small, but there was something else underneath. Something like hope. "I guess... If you really want to."
"I really want to." Shane stood, and I saw his eyes were bright. He blinked it away. Then he looked at Zoe and smiled. "You might want to fix your mascara first, though. Unless raccoon eyes are in style now?"
Zoe let out a surprised laugh, half sob, half giggle. "You're such a dork."
"I've been told." He smiled at her. "Go on. We'll wait."
Zoe disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the water running.
Shane turned back to me. Held out the roses.
"These are for you."
I took them. My hands were shaking. Tears were streaming down my face, and I didn't even care.
"Shane..." I couldn't get more than his name out.
He stepped closer. His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away a tear.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
I nodded. Shook my head. Nodded again.
"Thank you," I whispered. "Shane, I don't know how to—"
"You don't have to say anything."
"But I do." I reached up and covered his hand with mine. "What you just did for her. For us. I don't—" My voice broke. "No one's ever..."
"Hey." He stepped closer. His forehead came down to rest against mine. "This is exactly where I want to be. Okay?"
I closed my eyes. Breathed him in. Soap and something warm underneath. His breath against my lips.
"Okay," I whispered.
We stood there for a moment. Just breathing. His hand was warm against my cheek, mine pressed over it, our foreheads touching. The apartment was quiet around us.
I wanted to kiss him. Wanted it so badly my whole body ached with it.
His thumb traced my cheekbone. I felt him lean closer, felt the air between us thin to nothing—
"Okay, I'm ready!"
We sprang apart. Zoe stood in the bathroom doorway, mascara fixed, a knowing smirk on her face.
"Were you two about to kiss?"
"No," I said too quickly.
"Definitely not," Shane added.
Zoe rolled her eyes. "Sure. Can we go now? Before you start being gross?"
Shane laughed, the tension breaking.
"Okay. Let's go."
He offered me his arm.
I felt the warmth of him through the fabric. The steadiness of him beside me.
The gymnasium had been completely transformed.
Streamers in pink and silver. A disco ball scattered fragments of light across the floor. A DJ booth in the corner, thumping with bass. Tables along the walls with punch bowls and snacks.
And everywhere, dads with their daughters.
We walked in, and the room subtly shifted.
People stared. At Shane, because he was recognizable. At me, because I was supposed to be here alone. At the three of us together, because it didn't fit the narrative everyone had written about Maya Cummins and her sad little life.
I caught Mrs. Patterson across the room. Her face went tight.
I didn't care.
Shane led Zoe onto the dance floor, and I found a spot along the wall to watch.
He wasn't a great dancer. A little stiff, slightly off-beat, his movements were the careful concentration of someone trying very hard not to step on anyone's feet. But he was trying. And Zoe was laughing.
Actually laughing. The kind of laugh I hadn't heard from her in months.
She tried to teach him some dance she'd learned online. He failed spectacularly. She laughed harder. He pretended to be offended, then swept her into an exaggerated waltz that had her shrieking.
Something was building in my chest. Watching Shane spin my daughter in clumsy circles. Watching Zoe laugh—really laugh. Watching a man with no obligation to be here choose to show up anyway.
Shane caught my eye across the gym and winked, like this was exactly where he belonged.
And just like that, the walls I'd spent thirteen years building cracked down completely.
I was in love with him.
The realization didn’t hit me like lightning. It settled into my bones, like something that had always been there, just waiting for me to notice.
I loved him.
I loved the way he showed up without being asked. The way he fixed things around my apartment and pretended it was no big deal. The way he looked at Zoe like she mattered, like she was worth his time, like her happiness was something he'd rearrange his whole life around.
I loved him, and I was terrified.
Because loving people meant losing them. Giving them the power to leave, to disappoint, to prove you were never worth staying for in the first place.
But standing there at the edge of the dance floor, roses still clutched in my hand, I knew.
It was worth the risk.
For the first time in my life, I was going to stop bracing for someone to leave—and let myself stay.