Her whole body loosened like she could finally exhale.
She danced like the stage was hers.
Was she perfect?
No.
She wobbled, turned the wrong way once, stared at the girl next to her for a cue.
But her smile grew every time she spun, and I swear I could feel my heart trying to clap its way out of my chest.
When they bowed, I was already half crying.
“I thought maybe you got stuck in the garbage.”
I pretended it was dust, obviously.
Afterward, I waited in the hallway with the other parents.
Glitter everywhere, tiny shoes slapping against tile.
When Lily spotted me, she barreled forward, tutu bouncing, bun slightly crooked.
“You came!” she shouted, like that had honestly been in doubt.
She hit my chest full force, almost knocking the breath straight out.
“I told you,” I said, voice shaking hard.
“Nothing’s keeping me from your show.”
“I looked and looked,” she whispered into my shirt.
“I thought maybe you got stuck in the garbage.”
I laughed, which came out more like a choke.
“They’d have to send an army,” I told her. “Nothing’s keeping me from your show.”
She leaned back, studied my face, then finally let herself relax.
We took the cheap way home, subway.
On the train, she talked nonstop for two stops, then crashed, costume and all, curling against my chest.
That’s when I noticed the man a few seats down, watching.
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