Islip my phone into my pocket and stare at the Uber driver’s screen from the backseat. Although Adeline assured me that she had everything covered, I don’t want to take any chances on seeing Ryder—not now. Not when my chest still tightens every time I think about the last thing he said.
Seventeen days.
That’s how long it’s been since I left. Since I made the choice not to look back.
I’ve counted them like scars. Seventeen days of silence. Seventeen days of rerunning his words on a loop until they stopped sounding like him.
The closer we get to the city, the more it feels like I’m betraying someone. Maybe myself. I’ve gone back and forth in my mind—debating whether to tell him about Kylie, whether to call and say,“Hey, maybe we both overreacted.”But I can’t. I didn’t overreact at all… and deep down, I know he didn’t either.
“This the place, Miss?” The driver glances back through the rearview mirror.
I nod, staring out the window at Montlake Musical Academy for the Gifted. Roses in shades of purple spill from a trellis, and a sign reads:Welcome Moms!
My heart swells against my ribs. I scan the parking lot for any cars that might belong to Ryder’s men. I don’t spot them, but I know better than to believe they’re not here. This feels too orchestrated. Like a stage dressed in florals and lies.
I step into a hallway lined with soft lighting and polished tile. A table ahead is littered with unclaimedMom of a Gifted Musicianbadges. I grab one and follow the smaller purple rose–framed signs toward the theater.
The auditorium is dressed like a miniature Carnegie Hall—velvet chairs in perfect rows, polished wood paneling that glows beneath the stage lights, a gleaming platform backed by thick, ornate curtains—and yet, it’s completely empty.
My pulse ticks like a metronome. I glance over my shoulder, scanning exits, wondering what I missed.
Just then, I nearly collide with a redheaded woman carrying a box of donuts.
“Oh, whoa!” she exclaims, saving them with a quick shuffle. Straightening, she shoots me a look. “May I help you with something, Miss?”
“I thought there was a recital here today.”
“There is.” She smiles, unfazed. “It starts in about forty-five minutes. You’re welcome to explore or take a seat while we get ready.”
Another staffer appears, and the redhead disappears down the hallway.
I walk toward the front row and stop. One seat is marked with a gold placard:
Adeline Ivy’s Mother.
The name knocks the breath from my lungs. I reach out, brush my thumb over it like a secret I was never meant to hold. Like touching it too long will ruin the illusion.
Within seconds, other parents begin trickling in. I finally let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Adeline
Are you here, Miss Jane?
Yes. I promised.
xoxo
I slip out of the auditorium and into the hallway, following the signs to the restroom. I need a mirror and cold water to remind me I’m still made of skin and bone—not just emotion.
The second I step around the corner, everything in me tightens.
I feel him before I see him.
And when I do—when I see him standing near the registration table, staring like he never stopped—I lose the thread of thought I was clinging to.
He doesn’t speak. His eyes plead with me and punish me all at once. I almost step forward, almost.
