He laughed too.
Then his voice became more serious.
“She seems happier. Not because she’s forgotten what she’s going through, but because she has something to look forward to.”
I thought about Ethan’s hair, the wig, and the old sewing machine.
Sometimes the smallest things gave people a little room to breathe.
“I’m glad she’s found something she loves,” I said.
“So am I.”
Opening night arrived three weeks later.
The school auditorium was crowded with parents holding programs, children rushing between the rows, and teachers trying to persuade everyone to keep the aisles clear.
I sat beside Jacob.
We had become more comfortable around each other since the incident at school. We still disagreed about some things, but we had learned that both of us wanted the children to feel safe and supported.
Ethan had volunteered to help backstage.
He wore a black T-shirt and carried a roll of tape in his pocket. Every few minutes, he disappeared behind the curtains and returned carrying something he had forgotten to put down.
