I’m a few minutes early for school pickup, so I hang out near Charlotte’s classroom door among a group of moms. It’s been a while since I picked her up from school, and I feel like the women are all staring at me.

I touch my pocket, looking for my phone. It’s like a reflex. But like an idiot, I broke my phone last night, and I haven’t had time to replace it. I’m not sure when I will. We have to be back here for parent night, and somehow cell phone stores are like a black hole of time.

Several of the women are definitely staring at me. I shift on my feet and put my hands in my pockets, feeling like a wounded gazelle being circled by a pride of lions. I breathe out a sigh of relief when the teacher opens the door and kids start coming out.

Charlotte sees me and her face lights up. She runs over to me and I scoop her up, hugging her.

“Hey, Bug.”

“Hi, Daddy,” she says, giving me a big squeeze around my neck. “Is Linnea home yet?”

“No, sweetie, she’s not.”

“Okay,” she says, her voice matter-of-fact.

I put her down and she takes my hand as we start to walk home. How do I tell her Linnea isn’t coming tonight? And how is she going to react? She’s made so much progress this year, and the fact that she wants to play piano in front of an audience—even a small one—is such a huge step. Is this going to derail her? Will she refuse to go?

“Bug, I need to talk to you about Linnea,” I say. “Remember how she went to Pittsburgh to audition for a big symphony?”

“Yes.”

“Well, her audition went really well,” I say. “They liked her and they want her to stay longer and do another audition. So… honey, she’s still in Pittsburgh.”

“Pittsburgh is in Pennsylvania,” she says.

“Yeah, it is.”

“She’s not in Pennsylvania,” she says. “She’s coming to parent night to see me play. I’m going to play piano just like her.”

The confidence in her voice is like a kick to the gut. She’s so certain. “I know she said she’d be here. I’m sure she wanted to be. But sometimes plans change. Linnea had to stay, which means she can’t come tonight.”

She stops walking, her hand still clutched in mine. I crouch down so I can look her in the eyes. This is killing me. I hate having to tell her something that’s going to hurt her.

“But she promised me,” Charlotte says. “A promise is like an oath and that means she has to come.”

“I know. If she could be here, she would.”

She tilts her head to the side and purses her lips. “Don’t worry, Daddy. She’ll be here.”

I let out a long breath and Charlotte tugs on my hand, so I straighten and walk her the rest of the way home.

* * *

First grade parent night is held in the gym. It’s a nice thing they do to share what the class has been doing all year. There are tables set up at the back with displays made by the students, and rows of chairs facing a stage on the other side. There’s an old upright piano set at an angle on the stage. I glance at the program I picked up when we walked in. Among the list of children set to perform I see Charlotte Lawson - Piano.

I sigh and look down at her. She’s wearing her favorite pink dress, with pink tights and a pair of shiny black shoes that Linnea bought her. Her hair is in a ballet bun, and honestly, she looks so adorable it makes my chest ache.

Her little hand is in mine and she glances around. Families wander through the tables with displays of students’ artwork.

It’s not a large group of people, and the rows of chairs don’t make it look like the audience size will be too intimidating. But Charlotte still thinks Linnea will be here, and I’m worried about what she’s going to do when she realizes she’s wrong.

Linnea’s friend Megan walks over with her son, Noah, and a guy in a button-down and slacks who must be her husband. I’ve met Megan a few times, and she seems nice. I’m grateful that she and Linnea decided to facilitate a friendship between Charlotte and Noah. It’s made a big difference for Charlotte to have a friend in her class.

“Hey Noah,” I say. Noah gives me the same almost-but-not-quite-smile I’ve seen on him before.

Charlotte says hi, and he does smile at her. Megan introduces me to her husband, James. We shake hands, and I can see where Noah gets his serious demeanor.

“Where’s Linnea?” Megan asks.

I clear my throat. “She’s at a symphony audition in Pittsburgh.”

Megan lifts her eyebrows. “Really? Wow, that’s… I guess it’s good?”

“Yeah,” I say. I’ve gotten good at pretending I’m happy about this. “It’s an amazing opportunity for her.”

“Huh,” Megan says. “The Pittsburgh Symphony means… Pittsburgh.”

“Yeah,” I say.

She narrows her eyes at me. “Well, I guess I’ll have to text her later and see how she’s doing.”

“I’m sure she’d love that.”

I touch my pocket again, thinking about my phone, wondering if Linnea has tried to call me today. I’m so torn over her. I can’t blame her for staying in Pittsburgh. What else is she supposed to do? Parent night isn’t exactly as important as a call-back audition for a top-tier symphony.

But to Charlotte, it is that important. I know I can’t protect my little girl from everything. But I hate that she’s going to get hurt. And it’s worse that it’s because of Linnea.

Well, it’s my fault too. But that doesn’t make me feel any better at this point.

Charlotte leads me by the hand to look at the displays. She shows me hers—it’s a collection of pictures depicting the life cycle of a butterfly. She’s been fascinated since they learned about them in her class.

Her teacher walks out on stage and announces that parents have about five more minutes until it’s time to take our seats.

Charlotte tugs on my hand and my heart twists at the worried look in her eyes. “Daddy, where is she?”

“I told you, Bug, she’s still in Pittsburgh. She’s not coming.”

She doesn’t cry. Her eyes don’t fill with tears and she doesn’t cause a scene. Her eyebrows knit together and she gets a little groove between them. Her mouth presses closed and I can practically feel the tension rolling through her little body. I can see her struggling to process what this means as her eyes dart around the room—from me, to the piano on stage, to the floor. Finally, her eyes lock on the ground. Her back is stiff and she clutches my hand in a tight grip.

I crouch down. “Bug. Baby girl, I know you’re upset. I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t answer me. Her eyes stay on the floor in front of her.

Her teacher comes over and smiles. “We need Charlotte over on the far side of the stage in a few minutes.”

“Okay, we’ll be right there.” I touch Charlotte’s chin and try to coax her into looking at me while her teacher walks away. “Bug? Sweetie, if you’re going to play your song, we need to get you in place over by the stage, okay?”

I stand and nudge her, tugging gently on her hand, but she doesn’t move. It’s like her feet are glued to the floor.

Fuck.

The other parents file into the rows of chairs, taking their seats. The small group of kids who are performing begin lining up next to the stage.

Movement near the back of the gym catches my eye and I glance over. A woman who looks exactly like Linnea comes through the door and starts walking toward us. She has a handbag on one shoulder and she’s pulling a rolling suitcase behind her. Her hair is down and a little messy, her blouse partially untucked and wrinkled.

It can’t be.

“Bug,” she says as she hurries to us.

Charlotte turns at her voice and instantly her demeanor changes. She drops my hand and gasps. “Linnea!”

I gape at Linnea as she crouches down in front of Charlotte.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Linnea says. “I tried so hard to get here on time.”

Charlotte smiles. “I told Daddy you were coming. You promised.”

“I did promise,” Linnea says. “And I meant it. I’m so sorry if I made you worry.”

Charlotte throws herself into Linnea’s arms. My throat feels tight as I watch her hug my daughter. She’s here? Why isn’t she in Pittsburgh?

“Are you ready to play your song?” Linnea asks.

“Yes,” Charlotte says. She looks up at me. “Daddy, am I supposed to line up now?”

“Yeah, right over there with your teacher.”

“You’re going to do great,” Linnea says. “I’ll be right here watching the whole time.”

Charlotte nods, then walks over to her teacher near the stage. I watch while Ms. Peterson gets her situated in line to wait her turn.

Linnea stands and brushes her hair back from her face. She rests her hand on the handle of her suitcase.

“Did you come straight from the airport?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says. “Flight delays and traffic and… I didn’t think I’d make it but the taxi driver was some kind of wizard. He knew a shortcut that bypassed an accident on the freeway.”

“I thought you had another audition.” I know I’m staring at her like an idiot, but the sudden change, from thinking she’d let Charlotte down to seeing her burst in here at the last second, leaves me feeling like I have whiplash.

“It’s kind of a long story.” She glances at the stage. “I know this isn’t the time, but can I talk to you?”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling my brain start to work again. She’s here. Holy shit, she’s fucking here. This changes everything. I grab the handle of suitcase and lead her to the back of the gym, behind the display tables.

“Caleb—”

“Wait,” I say. “I need to talk to you too. Let me go first. Please.”

“Oh, okay.”

I look into her beautiful blue eyes and I’m flooded with relief. “I don’t know what happened in Pittsburgh, but I want you to come home. I want you to stay. No, I don’t just want you. I need you. We need you. You’re perfect for me, and you’re perfect for Bug, and my god, Linnea, I am so in love with you. I should have told you before, but I didn’t want to hold you back. And if this is your dream, and you have to move to Pittsburgh… fuck it. We’ll move too. I’ll find a job over there and we’ll come with you. We’ll find a way to make this work, because all that matters is us. The three of us are a family, and I’ll do whatever I have to do so that we can be together.”

Her lips part and she stares at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She takes a trembling breath. “I… um…”

“What?” I ask.

“I practiced what I was going to say on the way here about a hundred times, but you just went and said all that and…”

I brush her hair back from her face. “Okay, well, say what you were going to say.”

“I was going to say that I’m not moving to Pittsburgh,” she says. “They called me back for a second audition, but I turned it down. I didn’t want the job anyway. I don’t want to play with a symphony. That’s what other people expected me to do, and it took me way too long to realize I could follow my own path. I was going to say that… that I don’t know if you love me, and if you don’t I’ll figure out how to live with it. But I love Charlotte and I want to live here and take care of her and teach piano. So please don’t make me lose her too.”

“Oh, Linnea, no.”

“But if you… did you just say you love me? And we’re… we’re a family?”

I step close and slip my hands around her waist. “Yes. I love you so much. You and Charlotte are my world.”

“I want to stay,” she says, looking up at me, her voice soft. “I love you too and I want to come home.”

Smiling, I lean in to kiss her. Ms. Peterson says something into the microphone, but I don’t hear my daughter’s name, so I don’t worry about it. My lips find hers and I practically shudder with relief at the feel of her mouth on mine. I pull her close and slide one hand behind her head, my fingers tangling in her hair. I kiss her hard and deep, without a single fuck for the fact that we’re in my daughter’s school and it’s completely inappropriate.

I kiss her like she’s mine. Because she is, and I’ll make sure she knows it’s always going to be that way. I’m never letting her go again.

“And next up we have Charlotte Lawson, who is going to play Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star on the piano.”

We both pull away, gasping. Leaving Linnea’s bag where it is, I grab her hand and we rush up behind the last row of chairs.

Charlotte walks out on stage and sits at the piano. She looks so precious and small. Linnea’s grip on my hand tightens as Charlotte lays her fingers on the keys. She pauses, her body completely still. I hold my breath.

Her fingers press the first notes. Linnea claps a hand over her mouth and squeezes mine harder. Charlotte nods her head to the beat as she plays, both hands finding the keys. She doesn’t just play the melody; she’s learned how to play accompanying chords with her left hand, and the effect is remarkable. Several of the children in the audience start singing along.

I’m so proud of her I think I might burst apart. Linnea and I hold onto each other, our excitement growing with every note. She comes to the end and holds the last chord before lifting her fingers. The crowd applauds and she twists on the bench, her eyes instantly finding me.

Her mouth moves in a smile that is so big and so bright it makes me tear up—and I feel absolutely no shame. I clap, and Linnea has both hands covering her mouth, her shoulders trembling. A few tears trail down her cheeks as Charlotte stands and curtsies, lifting her dress as she bends her knees and dips her head.

Charlotte descends the few steps from the stage and runs into my arms. I scoop her up and Linnea and I hug her between us. My little girl squeezes my neck and the woman I love has her arms around us both. For someone else, it might be a small moment, just an embrace. But for me, it’s everything.

From the corner of my eye, I see Megan smiling so big she scrunches her nose. She gives me a thumbs up and mouths, Yes.

I couldn’t agree with her more.