Page 122 of The Perfect Mistake

“I think he’d be happy to hear how you feel.”

“Yeah.” Her fingers weave into the fringes of her blanket. “And if my mom wasn’t dead, she’d be here too. Dad is alone. I know he has to work.”

“Yes, that’s true too,” I say carefully. “Do you miss her?”

Willa glances over at me quickly before looking up at the ceiling. “Yes. Sometimes I remember her. Sometimes I think… maybe I don’t?”

It’s posed as a question, a bit quick and quiet. “That makes sense to me,” I say. “You were so little when she died. Younger than Sam is now.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to remember. Your dad remembers for both you and your brother, and he’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

She turns to look at me. “Is your mom alive?”

“Yes, she is. She lives here in New York.”

“Must be nice,” Willa says. “Does she braid your hair?”

That makes me smile. “Not anymore, but she did when I was your age.”

“Katja braids my hair sometimes. If I ask nicely,” she murmurs. She yawns, so wide that I can see the beginnings of a new tooth in the gap where her baby one used to be. “And you.”

I stroke her hair. “Whenever you want.”

“Mm-hmm. Keep reading,” she mumbles.

I open to the last page of the book. Willa’s breathing has evened out before I reach The End. I stay with her for a while, making sure she’s well and truly asleep before tiptoeing toward the door.

I can’t help but smile as I glance around the room on my way out. It’s so Willa. A mixture of purples and beiges, plush carpeting, and a large bookcase filled with toys. I leave her door ajar, just like I did with Sam’s.

Her whispered confession is touching. For an eight-year-old, nannies really only have one purpose, and it’s to let her dad walk away. But he’s already made more of an effort to be with his kids. More weekends with zero work, more evenings at home. Practicing piano with Willa.

I sit cross-legged on the couch, within earshot of the kids’ bedrooms in case they need anything, and stare at the message on my phone. I’ve had it drafted for days. The only thing left is to hit send.

Three ballerinas had left the Company in the past two years. I want to ask if they’d be interested in grabbing a coffee with me.

I stare at the message for another few minutes before I decide I can’t be a coward anymore. My future may not look like what I had planned, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still be great. And the only one who can make that happen is me. For so long, I was working toward someone else’s image of perfection. Someone else’s choreography, and someone else’s vision. I loved it. At the time.

But it’s time for me to try something else.

I hit send.

I’m still on my phone, compiling a list of dance studios in New York, when the front door opens. Alec walks in. He looks tired, his hair is mussed, and his suit is a bit rumpled at the collar.

“There you are,” he says.

I put my phone down. “Hey. How did it go?”

He tugs at his tie and crosses the distance between us. “Kids asleep?”

“Yeah. Willa was sweet. She apologized for how she acted in the beginning.”

He sinks onto the couch. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I give him a half smile. We haven’t had time to speak, not really, since Connie and Gabriel’s party. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he murmurs. He takes my hand in one of his, and his thumb rubs circles along the back. “How was your conversation with her?”

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