Chapter 19 ELLA
ELLA
Saturday morning finds Aria vibrating with excitement, sitting in the passenger seat like I promised her she’d win a million dollars instead of a new pair of riding boots.
The brace on her wrist is still snug, a reminder of the near-crisis that sent me into a panic spiral.
She’s all better now though, moving with confidence, her smile wide and steady, the bruise on her arm fading quickly.
Daisy giggles in the back seat, kicking her boots against the floorboard in quick little bursts of enthusiasm. “Aria, what do you think—should we get serious competitor boots or pink sparkly boots?”
Aria gasps dramatically. “Why would you even ask? Pink sparkly are obviously faster.”
Daisy nods sagely. “I heard glitter adds, like… at least three miles per hour.”
“That’s science,” Aria agrees, completely serious.
I bite back a laugh as I pull onto the main road. “Or… we could get normal boots and then add rhinestones.”
“Bedazzled boots!” Daisy exclaims. “Auntie El, that’s genius.”
“Oh my God,” Aria concurs, gripping her brace dramatically. “We’ll match. People will see us walk in and they’ll know we mean business.”
Daisy wiggles her shoulders. “Business with SPARKLES.”
Aria laughs so hard her braid flips over her shoulder. “We’re gonna look so cool. The other girls won’t know what hit them.”
“Yeah,” Daisy says proudly, “they’ll be like, ‘Wow, who are those stylish queens?’”
“‘Those fashion icons,’” Aria corrects, pointing to herself and Daisy like they’re already signing autographs.
I grin, my heart warming at the sight of them hyping each other up. “Just remember, your boots won’t help if your shirts aren’t cute too.”
Daisy gasps. “Auntie El’s right. We need the whole fit.”
Aria nods, completely serious. “Riding boots, glitter shirts, matching hair ribbons… victory.”
“Victory,” Daisy repeats, fist-bumping her.
The two of them fall into a rapid debate about color schemes—teal vs. fuchsia, whether fringe is too much for competition, if glitter hairspray should be allowed—and I just drive, listening, smiling, letting their joy fill up all the silent parts of my chest.
They deserve this. The excitement, the dreams, the silly debates. Everything.
They chatter the entire ride into town, and my heart feels full watching them. Full in a way that is dangerous, warm, and a little painful, because loving kids that aren’t yours is a very specific ache. It’s joy wrapped in caution tape.
But today is supposed to be fun, and I am determined not to ruin it with my spiraling.
We park near the equestrian sportswear store, which sits between a quaint coffee shop and an antique boutique run by a woman who claims she can “smell trauma on people.” I always circle the block when she’s outside.
It takes the girls all of thirty seconds inside the store before they scatter like puppies let off a leash. Aria heads straight for the brightly colored section, Daisy beelines to the classic browns. I trail behind them with the cart, already resigned to the chaos.
“Ella! Look!” Aria holds up a pair of baby-pink boots with tiny silver stars. “These are soooo pretty.”
Before I can answer, Daisy pipes up from two shelves over. “Pink is cute, but brown is fast.” She declares, lifting a plain pair of brown boots.
Aria squints at her. “Where did you hear that?”
“Uncle Beck,” Daisy says confidently. “He said brown boots are for real cowgirls.”
In the car, she was saying how glitter adds speed, and now she’s back to default mode. That was a quick switch. Kids will be kids, it seems.
Aria gasps. “So pink boots are what… for fake cowgirls?”
Daisy shrugs. “I mean… they’re pretty fake.”
Aria places her hand dramatically over her heart. “I’ll have you know pink is POWERFUL.”
Daisy flips her braid over her shoulder. “And brown wins trophies.”
I step between them before this becomes a boot-themed civil war. “Why don’t we try on both and see what feels good on your feet? Pretty and practical both matter.”
They agree with eager nods, and soon there are boxes everywhere, tissue paper flying, and boots scattered across the floor.
Aria eventually slips on a pair of rich chestnut boots embroidered with silver vines, the kind that catch light without looking too grown-up. She stands in them, rolls onto the balls of her feet, then walks in a slow circle.
Her face softens into a thoughtful, almost reverent expression. “These…” she says quietly. “These are winner boots.”
She says it with so much conviction even the cashier at the counter nods approvingly.
Daisy tries on a dozen more—some too stiff, some too tall, one pair so squeaky she looked personally offended—until she finally finds her pair: soft brown leather with pale pink stitching.
She stares at them for a long moment, then grins. “These feel like they’ll run fast.”
“Fast is important,” Aria agrees with the solemnity of a surgeon.
Daisy lifts her chin, proud. “I pick these.”
I clap my hands once. “Perfect. One pair of winner boots and one pair of fast boots. I think we’re ready for the podium.”
Both girls squeal, throwing themselves into a hug so enthusiastic they almost knock over a rack of socks.
They’re glowing, truly glowing, and seeing them that happy makes me happy as well. Aria in her chestnut vines. Daisy in her pink-stitched browns. Two little competitors who want to look good while they fly.
“Okay,” I say, grabbing the shoeboxes, “off to find clothes to match these masterpieces. Because if you’re racing in style, we’re committing fully.”
They cheer, and just like that, we head out of the store—two excited racers, one overloaded shopping cart, and me, their designated stylist/coach/auntie/mom-figure who loves them more than they’ll ever know.
Next, we head into the mall and directly to our store of choice for competition shirts and the kind of denim that lasts through six months of horse slobber.
I hold up a deep teal competition top. “Aria, this color will look beautiful on you.”
“Can I try it?” she asks.
“Go for it.”
She rushes into the dressing room, and Daisy trails behind, shutting the door like they’re entering a top-secret fashion bunker.
I lean against a display table while waiting, scrolling through my phone, smiling at a text from Ava asking for pictures, and another from Cole that just says: You okay, sweetheart?
I bite my lip, smiling like an idiot: Yes. Still shopping with the girls. Don’t worry, Papa Bear, I’ll bring your daughter home in one piece. Mostly.
Him: She better be in ALL the pieces.
Me: I’ll try.
He sends back a laughing emoji and a little yellow heart, and I swear my chest turns into warm syrup.
I’m still grinning at my phone when the dressing room door bursts open and Aria twirls in the teal top, the sleeves fitted, neckline modest, and shimmer catching the overhead lights like it was made just for her.
“Ella,” she calls out, breathless. “Look.”
My throat tightens. “Oh, honey… You look beautiful.”
She beams so bright it hurts.
Daisy jumps around her like an excited shadow. “She looks like a champion!”
She does. God, she really does.
We’re still laughing when that voice cuts through the store, slicing the air open with a single, sharp note.
“Well, isn’t this precious?”
The girls freeze, and my stomach drops. Because I’d know that voice anywhere.
Calista.
She stands near the entrance of the store, arms crossed, hip cocked, sunglasses perched on her head.
What is with her and those damn sunglasses?
She’s dressed like she’s walking a runway instead of lurking in the children’s section—white blouse, tight skirt, heels too impractical for this town.
She looks at me with the kind of smirk that starts fights.
“Playing mommy today, Ella?” she purrs. “How adorable.”
The girls instinctively move closer to me, Aria’s hand brushing mine. She doesn’t grab it. She doesn’t need to. The fear in her eyes is enough.
I straighten slowly. “Calista.”
She walks closer, making sure her heels click loud enough to draw attention. “Imagine my surprise seeing you here. With my daughter.”
The word my drips acid. Aria shrinks half an inch beside me.
“Aria needed new boots for the competition,” I say calmly. “We’re shopping. That’s all.”
Why am I explaining myself to this woman?! And why would she approach me? Wasn’t Cole rejecting her advances enough of a sign for her to stay away from us?
Watching him see her for the snake that she is, turn her down, and claim me after is a high I’m still riding on.
“Oh, please,” she scoffs, flipping her perfect blonde hair. “You’re trying to weasel your way into my family. Into my life. Into my daughter’s life. It’s pathetic.”
Her family? As far as I’m concerned, she lost them the moment she decided to cheat on Cole and steal his business from him—with his best friend, no less.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Aria deserves support. That’s all this is.”
“Oh yes, support,” she says with a fake pout. “From the girl who threw herself at a married man for years.”
“Calista,” I warn, my voice low.
She knows how wrong her accusation is. I didn’t dare get close to Cole until after they were separated for longer than a year. I loved him from afar until he was single again. She has no right to condemn me for stealing him from her. She lost him all on her own, long before I came along.
She looks me up and down. “I see Cole still has a type. Round, soft, desperate little things who think being easy to use is the same as being lovable.”
The words hit like a slap. Not because I believe them, not anymore, but because she said it in front of Aria and Daisy. Two kids who don’t deserve to witness adult ugliness.
Aria steps forward, tiny chin trembling. “Mom—“
Calista snaps at her without even turning. “You be quiet. You wouldn’t be hurt if someone here knew how to train a horse properly.”
Aria flinches. Rage floods my chest so fast I swear it buzzes under my skin.
I’m not even surprised she knows about the accident. It’s a small town after all, so news travels fast. Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s keeping tabs on us.
“That’s enough,” I say firmly. “You don’t talk to her like that.”
Calista laughs. “Oh, I forgot. You’re trying to be her new mommy. How sweet. Maybe Cole really is that desperate.”
Before I can speak, she steps in close—too close—her voice dropping into venom. “Do you really think a man like him could ever want a woman like you? Look at you. Of course, you had to go for someone else’s husband. You couldn’t get one on your own.”
My pulse pounds. She wants a reaction, to feel big by making me small.
I’m about to tell her to back off when she does something I truly do not expect. She slaps me. Hard. The crack echoes through the aisle, making the girls gasp.
My cheek burns, anger boiling over.
Calista smirks, breath hot with spite. “Stay away from my family.”
I don’t think. I simply move.
My hand comes up, and I slap her back—open-handed, sharp enough to spin her head a fraction to the side. She stumbles, shock flashing across her perfect features.
“Don’t you ever lay your hands on me ever again,” I warn, voice quiet but fierce. “I don’t care who you think you are. You don’t get to hit me. You don’t get to insult these girls. And you sure as hell don’t get to walk around pretending you love a child you barely raised.”
Her eyes widen—humiliation, anger, disbelief. “You little—“
“No,” I interrupt. “We’re done.”
I turn my back on her, placing both girls behind me as I walk toward the exit. I don’t wait for her reply or give her another second of my dignity. I just keep walking.
When we reach the parking lot, I exhale slowly, kneeling to the girls’ height. “Hey… look at me.”
Daisy’s lip trembles. Aria’s eyes are shiny with tears.
“I’m so sorry you saw that,” I whisper. “That is not how adults should act. And that is not how we solve problems.”
Daisy sniffles. “But she hit you…”
“She did,” I nod, brushing a hand over her hair. “And it was wrong. Violence is never the answer. But standing up for yourself? That matters too.”
Aria’s chin wobbles. “Miss Ella… thank you.”
“For what, sweetheart?”
“For standing up to her,” she whispers. “She always… she always talks like that. To me. To Dad. To everyone. Thank you for defending me.”
My heart cracks. I pull her into my arms, holding her tight, whispering into her hair. “I’ll always stand up for you. Always.”
She starts crying—soft, quiet tears that bury themselves in my shoulder. I hold her until she’s steady.
I look at both girls, wiping their cheeks gently. “You two are safe with me. I promise.”
They nod, leaning into me on both sides.
We drive home in silence for a few minutes before Daisy asks softly, “Auntie El? Are you okay?”
I glance at her in the mirror, then at the faint mark on my cheek. “Yeah. I’m okay. Sometimes people hurt others because they’re hurting inside. But that doesn’t make it right. And it’s not your job to carry their pain.”
Aria sniffles. “Dad’s going to be mad.”
“I know,” I say with a small smile. “But he’s also going to be proud of you for being brave. And he’s definitely going to give both of you ice cream to make up for all this.”
Aria gives a tiny giggle.
When we pull into the ranch and I park the car, she leans forward again, her voice soft.
“Ella?”
“Yeah, baby?”
She hesitates, then whispers, “I’d… I’d be really happy if you were my… um… you know. My… mom. Or whatever.”
My heart stops, then melts.
I swallow hard and turn, cupping her cheek gently. “Oh, Aria… I’m not trying to replace anyone. You have a mom. But I promise you this…” I press a kiss to her forehead. “…I will always love you like you’re mine.”
She hugs me so tightly I feel it in my ribs, allowing everything inside me to settle after such a horrifying ordeal.