Page 117 of Your Second Chance
“I will!” Scarlette chirped.
“I’ll make sure she gets all the best angles.”
“Good. And you, love... make sure to take some pictures of yourself, too. I miss seeing you.”
My breath hitched at his words, warmth flooding my chest. “I miss you, too,” I whispered, barely able to speak over the lump in my throat.
Luna leaned closer to the phone. “Don’t worry, Ollie. I’ll send you the most candid, unflattering ones I can find.”
He laughed, a sound that somehow made the distance feel smaller. “I’ll take what I can get.”
The conversation paused for a moment, the weight of separation hanging in the air before Scarlette broke the silence. “When you come home, will you come to my school, too?”
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Okay, we’re almost at the school,” I said as we pulled into the parking lot, the large brick building adorned with holiday decorations coming into view. “Say goodbye to Ollie.”
“Bye, Ollie. Love you,” Scarlette called out, her little hand waving at the speaker as if he could see her.
“Love you, too,” Ollie replied warmly. “And love you, Nova. Don’t forget those pictures.”
“I won’t,” I said softly, my heart aching as I ended the call.
I parked the car, and we climbed out, the cold Chicago air biting at my cheeks. Luna stepped out beside me, zipping her coat higher as she surveyed the area.
“Wow,” she said, looking around. “This place is bougie.”
Scarlette tugged on my hand, her excitement bubbling over as she pointed toward the entrance. “Come on, Mama and Daddy Luna. I don’t want to miss it!”
“All right, all right,” I said, letting her drag me toward the doors, Luna trailing behind us.
We hurried into the school, and I dropped her off backstage with her teacher while Luna saved us two seats.
“Hi, Ms. Peterman.”
Fortunately, Scarlette’s teacher had emailed me last week with a little bio about herself so I could get Scarlette familiar with who she was.
“Oh my gosh. You must be Scarlette. We are so excited to have you start school after break. Thank you for joining our performance.”
Scarlette smiled shyly, hiding behind my leg.
“She’s a bit nervous,” I said, smoothing Scarlette’s hair.
“That’s completely normal, and I know just the person to help.” She gestured toward a blonde woman standing nearby. “Come, let me introduce you to Mrs. Astor. She’s leading the performance today.”
We followed Ms. Peterman through the crowd of students backstage. As we approached, Mrs. Astor turned toward us with a radiant smile. Her long, golden blonde hair fell in loose waves down her back, and her vibrant red sweater with small bows on the sleeves paired perfectly with a plaid skirt. She exuded warmth and elegance, the kind of presence that made you feel at ease.
Mrs. Astor crouched down to Scarlette’s level, extending a hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Scarlette,” she said in a southern accent. “I’m Mrs. Astor. We’re going to have so much fun today.”
Scarlette tentatively reached out to shake her hand, her small fingers disappearing in Mrs. Astor’s gentle grasp.
Ms. Peterman chuckled. “You’ll have to start using your new name.” She nudged Mrs. Astor lightly.
Mrs. Astor laughed, a warm, tinkling sound that seemed to lighten the room. “Still getting used to it,” she admitted, giving Scarlette’s hand a playful squeeze.
Scarlette giggled, clearly charmed.
“Now, let’s get you backstage and ready to shine,” Mrs. Astor said, guiding her away.
