Page 68 of The Perfect Mistake

So while she might not want to hear from me, I have to say it anyway. “Good luck,” I say. “You go out there, and you just focus on the piano. Not the crowd. Just do your best and let the music take you away.”

Maybe it’s not the advice you give a kid, but it’s what worked for me night after night after night for years. Focus on the music and on the steps.

Nothing else mattered.

Willa doesn’t reply. Seconds later, her name is called, and she walks out on stage with her little head held high. I’m so used to just seeing her next to Sam, as the big sister, that I’ve forgotten how young she really is.

I hurry back to the seats in the front row reserved for the parents of the performers. There’s an empty chair beside mine. I’ve draped my jacket over the back, saving it for him.

I text him again. First row to the right. Willa’s performance is starting now. Get here.

Then I hit record and watch Willa.

He arrives halfway through.

I’m aware of it, even though I don’t turn my head to look in his direction. A thick thigh presses against mine, and I catch the scent of him, of the coffee and rain that clings to his wool coat.

Willa is sitting ramrod straight on the piano bench, halfway through her concerto. She’s playing well. There are a few minor stumbles, but I only pick up on them because I’ve been listening while she practiced. I doubt the rest of the attendants notice.

Alec’s holding a bouquet of roses.

A bit of my anger drains away.

It’s obvious when Willa spots her dad in the audience. She peeks at me in the front row and then right at him, and her face lights up. A big smile spreads across her lips.

In my peripheral vision, I see Alec nod at her.

God, these kids want their father’s approval so badly. It’s never been clearer to me than right now.

And it’s never made me angrier that he doesn’t see it.

After the show, Willa comes bouncing down the stairs to Alec. “You came!”

“I did. I’m very sorry I was late, honey.” He puts an arm around her and hands her the roses. “Flowers for you.”

She looks up at him. “Really?”

“Yes. A time-honored tradition,” he says. “I bet Isabel got loads after performances, too.”

She glances at me, a quick look before refocusing on her dad. “What did you think?”

“You played really well. Your practicing has clearly paid off,” he says.

The compliment washes over her, and all the traces of her previous annoyance are gone. She looks radiant.

But I’m still fuming when we arrive home. The anger has warped into something sharper. My family was at every single one of my performances before they became so commonplace that it made attendance impossible. All four of them, Mom, Dad, Elena, and Seb. There wasn’t money for flowers all the time, but my mom would always bring my favorite chocolate. But Alec couldn’t make it to his daughter’s recital without being late.

Katja cooked Willa’s favorite dinner. And once the kids are fed and bathed, Alec puts them to bed. It’s usually a good night when he’s home in time to do it. Sam is first, and Willa’s later. Thirty minutes of reading a story, and then lights out.

Unless he’s gone, which he is fairly often, out to dinners with investors or to company events.

The apartment is quiet as I wait for him to finish with the kids. I make myself a cup of tea and sit by the large kitchen counter, sipping the too-hot liquid. Frustration makes it hard to relax. He’s a good dad, but I feel like there are things he doesn’t notice. Opportunities he doesn’t take.

I hear his footsteps before I see him, walking in from the kids’ hallway. He stops when he spots me.

“Hey,” he says.

I put down my mug. “Hi.”

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