Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Luna
Morning sun sliced through the blinds, carving the hardwood into bright, piano-key stripes.
Laila's laughter pulled me from sleep.
That bell-clear giggle drifted through the door, punctuated by Cassian's low, amused murmurs. I lay there on the soft mattress, staring at the ceiling, my mouth curving up without permission.
Laila was laughing again.
This past week, I'd been hearing more and more of it. She really seemed to love it here.
I got up and headed downstairs.
In the living room, Cassian sat on the floor with Laila across from him. Between them was a pile of blocks, scattered everywhere. Laila held a long rectangular piece, balancing it on top.
"See? This way it won't fall!"
Cassian studied it seriously, nodding. "So that's how it works."
"Of course! Pay attention and stop knocking it over!"
"Okay, I'm learning."
Sunlight poured through the windows, bathing them both. Laila's golden curls gleamed, and so did Cassian's hair. They bent their heads together over the blocks, glancing up at each other now and then, laughing.
I leaned against the banister, watching. Something bumped softly against my chest.
Moving in here over a week ago—the days had been unexpectedly full. Rehearsals during the day, home at night. Sometimes I got back early enough to eat dinner with Laila. On days off, Chloe and I would take Laila out.
Cassian was always there.
Maybe cooking in the kitchen, maybe playing with Laila, or just sitting on the couch reading. When I came home, he'd look up and say, "You're back?" Then he'd go on with whatever he was doing.
Not too warm, not cold. Keeping a distance that felt comfortable.
Every few days, we'd eat dinner together. His cooking had gotten damn good.
And then... those nights. Sometimes he'd come to my bedroom.
He'd kiss me gently, every touch careful, like I might break. And I'd get so wet under his hands. I knew my body had been craving him all along.
This arrangement satisfied me. It also made me uneasy. Late at night when I couldn't sleep, I'd watch Cassian's sleeping profile and feel a nameless dread rising—was I falling back in? Was I making the same mistake again?
That fear was a thorn, stuck in my heart. During the day I could ignore it, but in the quiet dark it would surface, sharp and hurting.
But I stayed. For Laila. And for... myself.
I took a breath and walked over.
Laila rushed at me. "Mommy's up! Let's eat together!"
Cassian looked up, his eyes warm. "Breakfast is ready. On the table."
I ruffled Laila's hair and nodded without saying much. She dragged me to the dining table where the nutritionist's spread waited—scrambled eggs, bacon, blueberry pancakes, and hot milk. She climbed into her chair and attacked the pancakes, getting cream all over her mouth.
After breakfast, I kissed Laila goodbye. Then I headed out for today's rehearsal and performance.
The show was tonight. I changed into my practice clothes and started warming up. Stretching, spinning, leaping. By the end of the routine my body was hot and my mind was quiet. I loved these dancing hours.
Darkness fell quickly. Soon it was showtime.
When the curtain rose, I stood at the edge of the stage, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.
Tonight I was on fire. I danced with total focus, every turn solid, every expression precise. I channeled all my tangled emotions into stage presence. Until the lights dimmed and the music faded and I collapsed on the stage, eyes closed.
Silence.
Then applause exploded.
I stood, walked to the front. Bowed, bowed again. Flowers came up and I smiled, reaching out.
During curtain call, I saw Amy on her feet clapping wildly, her face radiating that "she's mine" kind of pride.
Back in the dressing room, she was already waiting.
"Incredible, Luna!" She looked thrilled but controlled herself, coming over for a light hug. "Your condition tonight was perfect! You know the Ballet Chicago people were here, right? They messaged me right after. They want to sign you. No question."
I smiled and took the towel she offered, wiping the sweat off my face.
"So now." She pulled a folder from her bag. "The Chicago tour plan. Final draft. Take a look."
I took it and opened it up.
The lighting was dim, so I walked to the makeup mirror and turned on the bulb lights to read carefully.
An invitation from Ballet Chicago. Another month-long tour, with master classes, media interviews, and sponsor galas woven in between.
The schedule was packed. Every single day had something on it.
"We doing this?" Amy asked.
I looked at that plan, at all those dates and venues and repertoires. This was what I loved. What I'd fought for over six years. From sleeping on the floor at the Royal Ballet to principal dancer now. Every performance was proof I existed.
"Absolutely. I'll review it at home and sign." I said.
Amy patted my shoulder. "Perfect! I'll tell them. Tomorrow's your day off. You can finally rest."
We talked about Royal Ballet business as we left together. Washington nights were quiet, trees lining the streets casting long shadows under the streetlights.
I got home close to eleven.
The yard lights were on. Warm yellow light stretched from the door to the steps.
I pushed inside. The living room lights were on too—the carefully chosen floor lamp, its glow soft.
Cassian sat on the couch with a book. He looked up at the sound of the door.
"You're back?"
"Yeah. Why are you still up?"
He closed the book and stood. "It's late. I waited. How was the show?"
Something shifted in my chest. "Fine. The show went great."
He nodded. "Good. There's low-cal food in the kitchen. Saved it for you. I'm heading to bed."
He turned toward the first-floor guest room, took two steps, then stopped.
"Oh, Laila just fell asleep a while ago. She drew a picture before bed. It's in the kitchen too."
I looked at him. "Thanks."
He smiled at me without saying anything, then pushed into the guest room.
I stood in the living room, staring at that closed door. Then I walked into the kitchen and found the thermal container with warm side dishes inside. Next to it was taped a drawing—a stick figure with a ponytail, "Mommy" written crookedly beside it.
My heart went soft. I carried the food upstairs and gently pushed open Laila's door.
Moonlight filtered through the curtain gaps, falling on her little face. She was sound asleep, golden curls spread on the pillow, long lashes casting tiny shadows. She clutched that brown teddy bear—the one Cassian gave her.
I crouched by her bed, watching.
Her breathing was light and even. A little smile played on her lips—probably dreaming something happy.
I reached out and brushed the hair from her forehead. Then kissed her there.
Back in my room, I pulled out that tour plan and set it on the nightstand.
I lay down, staring at the ceiling.
My mind was messy and empty at once.
Eventually I drifted into a restless sleep.
The next morning, sunlight woke me.
I opened my eyes—already almost nine. On my rare rehearsal-free day, I'd slept in.
After washing up I went downstairs. The living room was unexpectedly quiet, but the table was loaded with stuff. I hurried toward it, glancing at the yard.
Cassian and Laila sat under the big tree. Laila had her back to him, sitting still while he carefully combed her hair with a brush in hand. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling them both with light and shadow.
Cassian's hands were steadier than before. First he smoothed out her hair, then divided it into three sections and started braiding. His movements were still a bit clumsy, but he was getting there. Laila sat patiently, occasionally turning to look and say something, and he'd stop to listen.
"Cassian, do you know a hundred different braids?"
"No. I only know this one."
"Then learn more!"
"Okay, I will."
"When you learn them, will you braid them for me?"
"Yes."
I watched, couldn't help smiling.
A few minutes later, the braid was done. Cassian picked up a butterfly clip from beside him and fastened it at the end.
"All done!"
Laila jumped up and ran to the glass window nearby, checking her reflection. She looked satisfied.
"Mommy!" She spotted me and ran over. "Look! Cassian braided it!"
I crouched down, examining it carefully. "Yeah, much better than before."
Cassian walked over and stood nearby, clearing his throat softly.
Laila pulled my hand toward the living room. "Mommy, come look, Cassian got me so much stuff!"
The coffee table was covered in snacks. Chips, candy, cookies, juice—all kids' brands. Next to it was a basket of toys, some still new with tags on.
"My friends are coming today!" Laila said excitedly. "Jenny and little Mary, from my dance class. They all want to come play!"
I thought back. Cassian had mentioned something a few days ago. "This afternoon?"
"Yeah!" She nodded hard. "We're going to play with toys together, eat snacks together, watch cartoons together! When Cassian invited them, he said we could play on the swing and slide in the yard!"
I looked at Cassian.
He stood there still holding the brush, looking a little nervous.
"Chloe helped arrange it," he said. "She said Laila made two friends in dance class recently. I thought... we could have them over. She'd be happy."
Laila nodded vigorously beside him. "Happy! Super happy!"
I looked at her, at that bright sparkle in her eyes.
That sparkle. I rarely saw it on her face.
In London, she'd always been with me. Rehearsal halls, backstage, the apartment. Three points on a loop. She had toys, picture books. But she didn't have friends. Not the kind you could invite home to play.
We were always on the road. From one city to another. But she never complained. Sometimes I wondered—did she feel lonely?
Now she had it. A home where she could invite friends. Someone willing to prepare snacks and toys for her.
I looked at that pile of snacks, those brand-new toys, and Cassian's carefully tentative expression.
Something trembled lightly inside me.
We ate together and set up the living room. By two in the afternoon, the doorbell rang.
Laila jumped off the couch yelling "Coming!" and charged toward the door. I hurried after her, afraid she'd fall.
The door opened to reveal two little girls—one with pigtails, one with straight bangs, both about Laila's age. Their mothers stood behind them.
"You're here!" Laila greeted the adults, then grabbed the girls' hands and pulled them inside. "Come in! I'll show you my toys!"
The two girls got dragged in, a bit shy but quickly looking around curiously. Their mothers followed, standing somewhat awkwardly at the door.
"Good afternoon, please come in." I waved them inside. "Just come right in, welcome."
Cassian emerged from the kitchen carrying freshly poured juice. Seeing the guests, he nodded. "Good afternoon."
The two mothers lit up when they saw Cassian. One leaned over and whispered to me. "Is that your husband?"
I paused, but smiled and nodded.
Cassian set the juice on the coffee table, brought out snacks, and cut fruit. Then he sat a little distance away, quietly telling me to call if I needed anything.
Laila had already dragged her two friends upstairs to her princess room. Soon, laughter from three little girls drifted down, chattering like a flock of birds.
I sat in the living room chatting with the two mothers. They talked about dance class and praised Laila's sweetness. I smiled and nodded, occasionally adding a word.
After a while, Laila wanted to take her friends to the yard. Cassian got up and followed.
"Your husband is wonderful," one mother said after Cassian left, her eyes full of envy. "My husband can't even remember what foods our kid likes, but yours... the way he looks at Laila, he'd spoil her rotten. And he's willing to cook and serve himself—it's like a fairy tale."
I smiled without answering.
She asked again. "How long have you been married?"
I hesitated. "A while."
"With a child this old and still so happy together, that's rare."
I nodded and changed the subject.
The two girls played until almost five before leaving. Laila stood at the door, reluctantly waving goodbye, then turned back to me.
"Mommy, can they come again next time?"
"Of course."
She ran over happily and hugged my legs. "Mommy's the best!"
I crouched down and held her.
That night, though, Laila's mood was off. After lying down, she tugged gently on my sleeve.
"Mommy, I told a lie today."
I froze, then turned and held her. "What's wrong, baby?"
"When Jenny asked if Cassian was my daddy, I said yes." Her eyes were full of conflict. "I really wish my daddy would come back soon."
Those words locked me in place, my fingers instantly cold. It took forever to find my voice.
"He will, baby." I held her tighter.
The secret inside me felt like it was burning me alive.
I thought of this afternoon, of Laila's joyful figure, and my heartbeat went chaotic.
This was what I'd always wanted to give her—a stable social circle and a loving environment to grow up in. Now it was within reach. If I just nodded, if I just stayed, Laila could keep laughing like this, carefree.
But what about later?
That man's love had always been predatory. Were these changes genuine remorse, or another gentle trap to control me again? I couldn't risk it.
My career was at its absolute peak. Touring across America was every ballet dancer's ultimate dream.
If I stayed for this man who'd once hurt me so deeply, wouldn't I one day become that withered soul again?
Cassian still didn't know Laila was his daughter. If he found out, would he still be this patient? Would he try to take her from me? I had to think through every possibility.
Laila's breathing gradually steadied. She was asleep.
I laid her down gently, turned, and went back to my room, opening that tour plan. The Chicago contract terms looked cold and decisive under the light.
I looked up toward the window. Washington's night scene remained glittering, that glitter hiding the comfortable life I could have so easily.
But I looked down and saw in the mirror a woman who, though tired, had determined eyes.
I couldn't stake the rest of my life on a man's reformation. Even if he was doing well now, even if the braids he made for Laila were beautiful—that wasn't reason enough to stop.
Laila would understand. Or rather, I had to make her understand—a woman's independence mattered more than temporary security.
I picked up that heavy pen and on the contract's final page, on that horizontal line, I signed my name stroke by stroke.
Luna Crawford.
Bold letters. No hesitation whatsoever.