Chapter Thirty-Two
DECLAN
Friday arrives quickly, and by late afternoon, the house smells like hairspray and nerves.
Sophie’s been running lines since lunch, her costume hanging from the closet door like it’s guarding the room.
Every few minutes she pops her head out to ask if her lip gloss looks weird or if her shoes are “too squeaky for the stage.”
She’s vibrating. I can’t blame her.
Big nights do that.
I’ve already finished my rehab set and iced. My brace feels steady, stronger than it has in months, and the countdown’s carved into my brain.
One week until I’m cleared.
One week until I’m back where I belong.
She grabs her phone off the counter. “I’m gonna call Mom before we leave. Just to make sure she’s coming.”
I hesitate, then nod. “Okay. Keep it quick—we’ve got to head out soon.”
I half-listen from the kitchen while icing my knee. Sophie’s voice carries—bright, hopeful.
“Hi, Mom! … Yeah, tonight’s the musical! … I’m not nervous. Well, kinda. But Charlotte taught me this breathing thing and it works!”
My jaw clenches.
A pause, then Sophie says, “Okay, see you soon! Love you!”
She ends the call and skips off to grab her shoes, none the wiser to the quiet twist in my stomach.
My phone buzzes seconds later.
Vanessa: Who’s Charlotte? Are you dating someone?
I don’t answer. Instead, I text back:
Tonight’s important for Sophie. Can you make it? Curtain’s at 7:00.
Vanessa: Should be there.
I stare at that for a second, then type: Hope you can. It means a lot to her.
The school auditorium smells faintly of popcorn and floor wax, that mix of nerves and nostalgia every parent recognizes. The lobby’s crowded but hushed: parents chatting in low voices, ushers handing out programs at the door.
I spot Erin and David near the entrance. Erin’s holding two programs and David’s got a bouquet.
“Hey,” I say, shaking David’s hand.
He grins. “Ready for the big debut?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I say. “Sophie’s been practicing that duet for months.”
Erin smiles. “Maya too. They’ve been counting down to this all school year.”
Across the way, I catch a glimpse of Sophie near the side hall leading backstage, already in costume, her hair pulled back in neat curls. She’s talking with Maya and Mr. Kenner, but her eyes keep flicking toward the lobby like she’s still hoping to spot her mom.
When she glances my way, I lift a hand and give her an exaggerated thumbs-up. She laughs, and gives me one back. She straightens a little after that, chin up, shoulders squared, and I hope she remembers she’s supported no matter what.
Erin waves behind me. “Charlotte!”
I turn, and there she is, coming through the lobby doors in a soft blue sweater and dark jeans, hair loose around her shoulders. Nothing fancy, but she doesn’t need it.
“Hey,” she says quietly as she walks up, a small smile tugging at her mouth.
“Hey yourself,” I say, unable to stop my own. One look from her, and the noise around us fades like it always does.
She joins Erin and David, the three of them chatting easily. Erin’s already teasing her about how “half the school thinks the Foxes’ PT staff is famous now,” and Charlotte laughs, head tipped back, genuine and unguarded.
That sound hits something in me I don’t want to name. Not here.
We move toward open seats in the third row. Charlotte slides in first, Erin beside her, then David. I take the seat next to him on the aisle. From here, I can see Charlotte leaning toward Erin, laughing at something she says.
As the lights begin to dim and the curtain starts to rise, I hear the familiar sound of heels near the doors.
Vanessa slips in, polished as ever. Hair perfect, smile already camera-ready, phone in hand.
For a second, I’m too surprised to move.
Then I lift a hand in a small wave. She spots me, smiles back, and slides into a seat a few rows behind us.
Relief hits harder than I expect.
She actually came.
And for Sophie’s sake, that’s what matters.
The first act moves in a blur of color and stage lights. The kids are good, better than I expected, honestly.
Sophie’s confidence builds with every scene. In the ensemble numbers, she and Maya stay in sync, and the crowd claps and laughs at the right spots. I’m counting down until Sophie and Maya’s duet in the second act.
From a few seats over, I can see Charlotte watching so proudly. Every time Sophie hits a cue, she smiles. It’s subtle, but it does something to me—to see her care like that.
Halfway through the show, I glance back toward Vanessa’s row. She’s there, still smiling faintly, scrolling her phone in her lap between scenes. But when the curtain closes for intermission, she stands, checks her watch, and slips out through the side doors without a glance in my direction.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Vanessa.
Running late for a dinner with a client. Tell Sophie she was wonderful. I’ll call her tomorrow.
My stomach drops.
Sophie’s duet hasn’t even happened yet.
I stare at the screen until the words blur, then slide the phone back into my pocket and stand. I glance down the row toward Charlotte, already leaning towards me, reading my face like she knows before I say anything.
“Vanessa left,” I murmur quietly.
Through the gap in the side curtain, I spot Sophie peeking out, her smile faltering as she stares at her mom’s empty chair.
My chest tightens.
“I’m going to go check on Sophie.”
Charlotte exhales through her nose, the kind of quiet frustration that doesn’t need words. Then she glances toward the stage door. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
We head down the hall together. A parent volunteer waves us through the side door. Sophie’s sitting on a bench in the backstage hallway, hands twisted in her lap, eyes glassy.
“Mom’s not coming back, is she?” she whispers.
My throat tightens. “She had to step out for something, but she’s proud of you, Soph. And she’s gonna see your duet. We’ll record it and send it to her, okay?”
Sophie nods, lip wobbling, and that’s when Charlotte kneels beside her, voice low and calm. “Sophie, remember the breathwork we did before?”
Sophie nods, barely.
“Can we try it now? Slow breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
Sophie follows her cue, one breath, then another. Her shoulders ease, color coming back to her face.
“There you go,” Charlotte says softly. “You’ve got this. Maya’s waiting for you, and you’ve worked too hard not to show everyone what you can do.”
Sophie nods, a shaky smile starting.
I can’t speak for a second—just stand there, watching the two of them. Charlotte tucks a loose curl behind Sophie’s ear, whispers something else that makes her smile more, and in that moment, everything in me settles.
Watching her with my daughter does something I can’t explain.
It’s not just gratitude. It’s the kind of quiet knowing that sneaks up on you—the one that says this fits.
Not for a season, not for now. For real.
For good.
When Mr. Kenner calls, “Places!”, Sophie stands, takes one last deep breath, and heads back with Maya, chin lifted again.
When the curtain rises for the second act, Sophie’s back onstage, steady again.
She and Maya step forward for their duet, hands clasped, voices blending like they’ve been doing this their whole lives.
I don’t even realize I’ve been holding my breath until the last note fades and the crowd leaps to its feet.
She did it.
I clap until my palms sting. Erin’s cheering beside me, David whistles, and when I glance down the row, Charlotte’s got tears in her eyes.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as the applause dies down. It’s a text from Mom.
Watching the livestream. She’s a natural! Tell Sophie we’re cheering from home.
Another from Dad follows a second later.
Proud of our granddaughter. Tell her Grandpa’s giving her a standing ovation.
A smile pulls at my mouth before I even realize it. I text back a quick photo of the stage—Sophie and Maya still beaming under the lights.
She’ll love that, I text back. Miss you guys.
When I slip the phone away, the pride in my chest feels twice as big. They’re still part of this, even from miles away.
Afterward, the gym’s transformed into a makeshift pizza party for cast and families. Paper plates, string lights, kids still in costume. Sophie’s glowing, all nerves forgotten. She darts between tables with Maya, showing off flowers, replaying their duet for anyone who’ll listen.
When she finally circles back, I crouch to her level. “Proud of you, kiddo.”
She grins wide. “Charlotte said I nailed my breathing!”
I glance up at Charlotte, who’s across the table helping Erin stack plates. She just shrugs, a quiet smile tugging at her mouth.
Sophie continues, “Don’t forget—I’m staying at Maya’s tonight, remember?”
“I remember,” I say, smiling. “Go have fun.”
She grins, hugs me quick, then darts off again toward Maya and the snack table.
The rest of the night blurs into laughter, cleanup chatter, and goodbyes. By the time Charlotte and I step out into the parking lot, the air is cool and quiet.
“You made her night,” I say quietly.
Charlotte glances down at the flowers, her voice soft. “She made mine.”
For a second, we just stand there beside our cars, the streetlights buzzing overhead. The space between us feels charged—not rushed, just inevitable.
There’s a pull I can’t ignore anymore. Not just want. It’s need. Not the kind that burns fast and fades, but the kind that settles in, roots deep.
Every time I look at her, it feels less like something new and more like something I’ve been waiting to find again.
“Stay tonight,” I say finally. “She’s at Maya’s, and I don’t feel like the night should end yet.”
Charlotte hesitates, eyes searching mine. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out low. “Pretty damn sure.”
She nods once, slow, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Then I’ll follow you.”
By the time I pull into my driveway and see her headlights in the rearview mirror, my pulse is already a steady, hungry drum.