Downstairs, I grabbed my purse and coat, ignoring the pile of unpaid bills on the counter and the casserole dishes from neighbors we barely knew.
Katie hesitated at the door, glancing down the hallway—as if hoping, just for one impossible second, that Keith would appear and sweep her into his arms.
The drive to school was quiet. The radio played softly—one of Keith’s favorite songs.
I kept my eyes on the road, blinking away tears when I caught Katie’s reflection in the window, her lips moving as she mouthed the lyrics.
Outside the elementary school, the parking lot was crowded. Cars lined the curb, and groups of dads stood in the cold, laughing and lifting their daughters into the air.
Their happiness felt almost cruel. I squeezed Katie’s hand.
“Ready?” I asked, my voice thin.
“I think so, Mom.”
Inside, the gym burst with color—streamers, pink and silver balloons, a photo booth filled with silly props. Pop music pulsed against the walls. Fathers and daughters twirled under a disco ball, little shoes flashing.
Katie slowed as we stepped inside.
“Do you see any of your friends?” I asked, scanning the room.
“They’re all busy with their dads.”
We moved along the edge of the dance floor, staying close to the wall. Every few steps, people glanced at us—at my simple black dress and Katie’s too-brave smile.
A girl from Katie’s class, Molly, waved from across the room while her dad dipped her in a clumsy waltz. “Hi, Katie!” she called. Her dad gave us a quick, polite nod.
Katie smiled but didn’t move.
We found a spot by the mats. I sat down, and Katie curled beside me, knees pulled in, her badge catching the colored lights.
She watched the dance floor, eyes bright with hope. But when a slow song began, the weight of missing Keith seemed to shrink her even more.
“Mom?” she whispered. “Maybe… maybe we should go home?”
That nearly broke me. I took her hand, gripping it until my knuckles ached. “Let’s just rest for a minute, my love,” I said.
Just then, a group of moms swept past, their perfume lingering in the air. At the front was Cassidy, the PTA queen—perfect as always.
She noticed us and paused, her expression soft with something that looked like pity.
“Poor thing,” she said, just loud enough for others to hear. “Events for complete families are always hard on children from… well, you know. Incomplete families.”
I stiffened, my pulse pounding in my ears.
CONTINUE READING...>>
To see the full instructions for this recipe, go to the next page or click the open button (>) and don't forget to share it with your friends on Facebook.
