Colby stiffens slightly, but he does not set Jillie down abruptly. He just shifts so his shoulder blocks her face from the worst of the cameras.
Such a small movement. Such a devastating one. Because this time, my first thought is not about the headlines. It is not about the fake relationship. It is not about what people will say.
It is this: What if she starts believing this?
What if I do too?
Jillie pulls back, hands on Colby’s shoulders. “You really came.”
“I said I would.”
“Some people say things and don’t.”
The words are so simple, so brutal.
Colby’s expression changes. My heart cracks right down the middle. He looks at her for a long second, then says quietly, “I’m sorry that happened.”
Not defensive. Not dismissive. Not uncomfortable. Just sorry.
Jillie studies him, then nods like she accepts this offering.
“Okay.”
One word, a small one. But I know my daughter. I know when a door inside her opens.
And I know how hard it will be to close it again.
Colby stands slowly, still holding her hand.
The crowd begins to thin, though plenty of people keep glancing back. Mrs. Bellamy is already telling someone that she “always knew there was more to that boy than slap shots.”
I gather Jillie’s coat, my purse, the program, and what remains of my emotional stability.
Outside, the night air hits cold and sharp. Snow falls beneath the school lights. Parents guide children toward cars.
Kids compare recital snacks. Somewhere near the curb, a photographer pretends to check his camera while very much photographing us.
Colby walks beside us, careful and quiet.
Jillie chatters the entire way.
“Did you see Tyler forget the second verse? Miss Angie made her calm face, but I could tell she was worried. And Abby’s bell went flying. And I didn’t trip even though my shoes are slippery. And you clapped really loud.”
“You earned loud clapping,” Colby says.
She beams up at him. I should stop this. I know I should. But how do you stop a child from smiling at someone who keeps showing up?
We reach my car near the edge of the lot.
And that is when Darren appears.
Miserable timing.
He steps away from a dark SUV, wearing a navy coat and the same polished smile he used the night he told me Vanessa “understood his ambitions” in a way I apparently didn’t.
Vanessa waits near the passenger side, arms folded, watching with sharp interest.
My body goes tense instantly as Jillie’s hand tightens around mine.
