APRIL

As I walk up to our third-floor apartment, my eyes burn and the dam inside me threatens to burst. Steph shouldn't be home - I think she works tonight - so I plan on having a good, solitary cry once I get through the door. Or maybe even before, judging how big the lump in my throat is.

As I toss down my things in a haphazard pile, I'm already crying. Without wiping my cheeks, either - there's not much to be done about the tears streaming down my face and my hiccupping sobs. The ferocity of it surprises even me; I knew the destruction of my notebook got to me, but I wasn't aware of how much. It was given to me by my ex-girlfriend for our one-year anniversary. She customized it, knowing my favorite color is red. It's monogrammed on the inside and priceless to me. I would carry it everywhere and write down song titles, past, present and future when we were together and after we broke up. It was a part of her that stayed even after she left. It was like a culmination of who I am as an artist, and now that it's gone, I feel a hole in my heart.

"April?" I hear, then Steph's head pops up over the back of the couch. She's been sitting there with a book, bearing witness to my breakdown. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head and pinch my eyes shut, furrowing my eyebrows to create wrinkles on my forehead. "I'm fine," I say. "I just - I just had a hard day."

"A hard day…?" she says, coming over. "What happened?" I try and take a deep inhale, but it doesn't work in the way I imagined. I rest a hand on my throat and exhale in a series of sobs, falling against Steph's frame only seconds later. "Oh, honey. Here… let's get your coat and shoes off."

She helps me set my shoes to the side and hangs up my coat, placing one hand on my back after everything is taken care of. "I'm sorry," I blubber, throwing my arms over her shoulders again.

"Come here," she says. "I'll get some tissues and you can tell me what happened."

We end up in my room with my soft, white lights on, lying atop my queen-sized bed. Steph rests on her back and doesn't watch me, which I appreciate, and I keep my eyes on the ceiling fan as the tears continue. "You were right," I say, finally able to piece my thoughts into coherent sentences. "When you said it wasn't gonna be easy. You were right."

"Talk to me."

"She's a monster!" I exclaim, feeling bad instantly after. "Ugh. No, she's not. She's a little kid. But she acts like a monster. An awful one."

"What did she do?"

I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my hand, looking over with just my eyes. Steph is turned on her side now, head propped with one hand as she waits for me to delve into the story. "She hates me," I say. "She doesn't want me around. Today, she was mad at her dad for lying to her, so she took it out on me. And my notebook."

"What did she do to the notebook?" Steph asks.

I sigh and it comes out rickety and broken. "She ripped out all the pages," I say. "Tore them up. I lost everything."

"You're kidding," she says, genuinely appalled. She knows who gave that to me. I shake my head. "Oh, April, I'm so sorry."

"I know," I say, covering my face with both hands. "I wanted to cry. I almost did, right in front of him. He was really nice about it… he offered to buy me a new one, but I turned him down. He said he's gonna try and make things better, though."

"Didn't he already say that?" she asks, and I nod. "You know, you don't owe them anything. You don't have an obligation to stay. If you're not happy and this little terror is making your life hell, you're allowed to leave."

I blink, drying my eyelashes, and watch the fan as an answer culminates in my head. "I don't want to do that," I say.

"Why?" Steph pushes. "April, don't be a martyr."

"I'm not," I say.

"You don't have to save her," she continues, then pauses poignantly before saying, "Or him."

I chew the inside of my cheek and take a deep breath. "I'm not trying to," I say.

"Then why stay? It's only your second day and you're already so unhappy."

"But it is only my second day," I echo. "I don't feel like I can make a judgment yet. And… I feel bad for her. Athena."

"Why?"

"Because…" I say. "I don't know. Kids don't just wake up one day and decide to act horrible. It's a learned behavior. There's a reason why she's doing it. It's not her fault."

"Then it's his, and he's a shitty parent. Why is it your job to fix what he broke?"

"It's not," I say. "I just want to help. I want to try, at least."

"I don't understand you," she says.

"You grew up with your mom around," I say, turning to meet her eyes. "You grew up with a mom and a dad in a happy house. Things were different for me. I didn't have my mom just like Athena doesn't."

Steph's expression falters. "You're right," she says more submissively. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It's easy to forget," I say. "You didn't know me before, when everything was wrong. I lived life like Athena does. I know how it feels. I was angry, too. And so helpless. When you're in that situation, when you're a little girl without a mom, it feels like you're on the outskirts of everyone else's life. You always get second best. I was never treated differently in my family, but I still felt it. When I got my first period, I dealt with it on my own. I couldn't talk to my dad about that. And I was so mad. Why was my life so hard because of something out of my control?" My face heats up. "Then, you start to feel like maybe it was your fault. Maybe if things were a little different, a little better… no matter how stupid it sounds."

"It doesn't sound stupid," Steph assures me quietly.

I cross my arms over my stomach and close my eyes for a moment. "I guess I can see myself in her," I say. "In how she thinks and what she does. I'm not trying to save her, but… when I was little, I would've liked to know that I wasn't alone in the world. I didn't figure that out 'til I moved here. I don't want Athena to wait that long."

"I don't know a single other person like you," Steph says, holding my wrist while wearing a smile. "But I don't want you to run yourself ragged. Don't do that."

"I won't," I say.

"You have such a big heart," she says. "I don't want her to break it."

"No," I say, wrinkling my forehead as I let my eyes roam back to the ceiling. "Back then, when I was young and had just lost my mom, music put me back together. I could've had an awful day at school, but once I got home and sat down to play, it didn't matter. Music was my escape. I think if I can help Athena find hers, maybe she'll stop hating the world. And she can let some of her anger go."

"I hope her shitty dad knows how lucky she is to have you," she comments.

"He isn't shitty," I say, frowning slightly.

She sits up and crosses her legs, leaning forward on her elbows. "He sounds kinda shitty," she says. I don't bother refuting her again; she's never met him, she doesn't know. I don't know Jackson very well, either, but I know he's not a bad person. "We should get out of the house," she says, changing the subject. "Get your mind off all this. You wanna hit up The Whistler?"

"I'm not on tonight," I say.

"Just to watch," she says.

Less than an hour later, we're at The Whistler dressed in much nicer clothes than before and Owen is so happy to see us that he cleared a spot on the schedule for me. "You'd deserve it after a great day," he tells me. "But after a shitty one? Oh, honey. My heart's yours."

While Steph and I wait for my turn, we sit among the audience and take in a view we never get to see. Usually, we're on stage and if not, we're behind the curtain watching the other perform. It's a nice change, being here, and it relaxes me in a way I don't think anything else could. "Thanks for bringing me here," I say, leaning over after someone finishes their set. "I feel good."

"Of course you do," she says with a smile, then nods towards the stage. "You better go. I think you're up next."

Because I didn't get a chance to prepare, I've decided to pull out an old favorite to sing tonight. It's one that's been in my family since I was a child, and it's held a place in my repertoire ever since. A surge of joy pulses through me as I step onto the stage and smile into the crowd, wrapping my hands around the mic that I don't plan on moving tonight. "Hi guys," I say. "I'm April Skye. I'm just gonna sing one song tonight. This is Vincent by Don McLean." The lights dim and I take a deep breath, listening to the beginning notes drift through the air. "Starry, starry night… paint your palette blue and gray… look out on a summer's day… with eyes that know the darkness in my soul…" I smile through the lyrics; having not sung this song for a while, the familiar sentiment it brings comes rushing back. It's a sad song, one that always tugs on my heart, but it's so close that it feels like an old friend. "Starry, starry night… flaming flowers that brightly blaze… swirling clouds and violet haze… reflectin' Vincent's eyes of China blue… colors changing hue… morning fields of amber grain… weathered faces lined in pain… are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand. Now, I understand… what you tried to say to me, how you suffered for your sanity, and how you tried to set them free… they would not listen, they did not know how… perhaps, they'll listen now." The strumming of the live guitar envelops me in a warm blanket, and just like that the first half of the day washes away. Right now, all that matters is my existence right here, where I'm singing this song for people who love watching me. "And when no hope was left inside on that starry, starry night, you took your life as lovers often do… but I could've told you, Vincent, this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you."

When I finish, applause wash the stage and I can't help the wide grin that erupts on my face - so powerful it makes my cheeks hurt. I walk back into the crowd and find Steph who gives me a huge hug, holding on until I hear someone say my name. "Well, Miss April, I didn't know you had pipes like that."

I lift my head to see my boss from Uncommon Ground standing nearby with a big smile on his face. "Richard!" I say excitedly. "What are you doing here?"

"I like to come for a drink once in an odd night," he says. "I didn't know you sang here. I'm surprised I haven't caught you before. It was beautiful, and I mean that. I was touched."

"Well, thanks," I say bashfully. "If I'd known you were here, I would've asked you for a request."

"I very well may have picked that exact song," he says, raising his glass a bit. "It's my son's favorite. Has been for years."

"We're alike in that respect, then," I say, grinning. "I've loved that song for as long as I can remember."

"That's lovely," he says. "If I remember right, he even named his daughter after one of the verses. Isn't there something about violets…?"

"Swirling clouds and violet haze," I say softly.

"You'd like him," Richard says, encouraging the subject. "My son. He's a good kid. Well, a man. He's a good man."

I feel my cheeks heat up with the onset of a blush, and I laugh good-naturedly. "Richard, are you trying to set me up?" I ask jokingly.

"Hey," he says. "No harm in it. You're good people. He is, too."

"I appreciate it," I say, smile still lingering. "But I'm happily single, not looking for anyone right now."

"Alright," he says. "I respect that. I won't go throwing your number around. But don't forget about him when you do start looking."

"Richard..." I say, eyeing him.

"Alright," he laughs. "I get it. Anyway, it was a joy to hear you sing. No wonder you're always humming at the piano. A voice like that shouldn't be contained."

"Thanks," I say. "I'll see you tomorrow. I'm on the brunch shift."

"You really did kill it," Steph says after Richard leaves. "You feeling better now?"

"Yeah," I say, completely truthful. "Much better."

…

A bit more than a week later, after my shift at Uncommon Ground, I'm wired with the same nerves as always while I wait for Athena to get out of school. I wring my hands while standing amidst other nannies and mothers, not trying to make eye contact with anyone. Though it's been nearly two weeks, this anxious feeling awaiting her pickup still hasn't gone away. I wonder if it ever will.

"You look new," a voice says.

I turn my head to see a brown-haired woman wearing a blazer with a briefcase slung over one shoulder. Her makeup is done precisely, and her hair is impeccably straight - she looks like she came straight from downtown. "Oh," I say breathlessly. "Yeah."

"Who's your charge?"

"Sorry?" I say timidly.

"The kid you're here for," she says, glancing towards the door. "Who is it?"

"Oh," I say. "Um… Athena Avery."

The woman's eyes widen at the mention of her name. "You're doing God's work," she says. "Bless your heart." I balk a little and she takes a breath to keep talking. "I'm Lexie. I have twins - Eliana and Carter. Little blonde things, maybe you've seen them. Either way, they're in Athena's class. I hear all sorts of things about her."

"Oh," I say.

"She holds a reign of terror over that room, apparently," she says. "How long have you been with the Averys?"

"Almost two weeks," I tell her.

"I wish you luck," she says. "The twins have been in Athena's circle since they all started school. Not a day goes by where she makes life easy. But my guess is you already know that."

"Yeah," I say, then repeat it. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to gossip about a child," she says. "My twins just don't have a great track record with her. Pinching, kicking, there was the biting phase last year… best not to bring it up, I guess. I hope you'll be able to help her."

"We'll see," I say. "If I'm not here next week, you can assume she killed me."

Lexie laughs as the bell rings, then waves me goodbye to stand closer to the door. I feel a bit lighter having connected with someone at the school, where, until now, everyone has seemed too busy or too stuck up to give me the time of day. It made me feel even more alone than being shut out by Athena, and that's saying something.

I watch for her signature, dynamic hair among the heads of the other children and paste on a smile when it comes into view. Today, a portion of it is in a bun atop her head with the rest fanned out around her face, thick and beautiful. She's a gorgeous child, even while wearing a permanent scowl. I've never seen clearer skin, more expressive eyes, or more perfectly-shaped face. And the uniform is adorable, though today the knees of her white socks are stained brown with dirt.

"Hi, Athena," I say, greeting her with a smile. She gives me a tiny wave in return, eyes dead and unexpressive. Her mouth doesn't move out of anything but a straight line, and she simply stands in place. "How was your day?" She shrugs. "How did you get those stains on your knees?"

"Some kid pushed me, so I pushed back. He pushed me again, then I fell."

"Oh," I say, frowning. "Did you tell someone?" She shrugs. "If it happens again, I'd tell a teacher. They can do something if you're getting bullied. Is someone bullying you?" She shakes her head no. "Well, that's good," I say. "Should we head home?"

She doesn't give a verbal answer, but instead leads the way off the asphalt and through the gates to the sidewalk. I catch up and walk at her side, noticing that she's not complaining, not talking at all today. I try and stay content with the silence until I can't take it anymore - it's become too unsettling.

"Do you wanna talk about your day?" I ask, and she shakes her head. "Do you wanna talk about anything?" She walks a bit faster and I try to keep up - luckily, my legs are decently longer than hers. "What's going on, Athena?"

She doesn't look at me when she speaks. Instead, she continues on a straight path and says the words through a clenched jaw. "My grandma says that if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

I blink in surprise and raise my eyebrows, though she's not looking at me. "Oh," I say. "Well. Okay. Let's go home then."

When we get there, I make sure all of my belongings - no matter how innocuous - are in a place she can't reach. I turn on the lights to make the place feel more like home while Athena kicks off her shoes and opens the snack cupboard, grabbing what she wants without any care given to whether or not she can have it.

"Didn't your dad say something about eating healthier?" I ask. She just shrugs. I look at what's in her hand, see it's a granola bar, then give in. She could do worse. "Okay," I say. "How about after we finish eating, you do your reading? Or maybe we could take a look at the extracurricular list again."

She chews as she says, "I'm not doing any of those dumb extra-whatevers."

"They're not dumb," I say, finding the list. "They could be fun. Look. There's gymnastics, karate, swimming, ballet, soccer, tennis-"

"Stupid, stupid, stupid, and stupid," she says, prattling off in the same tone I used.

I purse my lips, at a loss of how to continue. "Well, then you'll have to take it up with your dad," I say. "He made this list because he thought you would like these things, I think."

"He doesn't know what I like," she grumbles.

"No?" I ask, trying to prompt a worthwhile conversation. She shakes her head - there's been a lot of that today. The least I can do is chip away at her concrete exterior to see if I can get somewhere. She's 7; how difficult can it be to relate? "What do you like?"

"I don't know."

"If you can figure it out, maybe we can tell him and get you signed up for something you actually enjoy," I say.

She shrugs for what's probably the thousandth time this afternoon. "Don't know," she says.

"Well, that's okay," I say, noticing that she's finished with her granola bar. "Keep thinking about it. What do you say we start reading?"

"I don't want to," she says, staring at the table and tracing the grain of it with one finger. "Can you read to me?"

"I…" I stammer. "I don't think that's how it's supposed to work."

"I just don't feel like it today," she says, barely moving her lips as her eyes stay where they are.

I feel my heart falter as I look at her face; one laced with sadness and anger too heavy for a child her age. I feel bad for her - though her actions get on my last nerve and she's pushed me to my limits over the span of just two weeks, I have to remember that she's a little girl. A little girl with a lot of feelings she doesn't know what to do with. At least, that's what it seems like. "You know what," I say. "Sure. What should we read?"

We move into the living room after making a selection and I sit on the couch with Junie B. Jones as Athena makes her way in. She glances between both armchairs that face the TV and then to the couch, clearly unsure of where to sit. I decide to extend the invitation to make her feel comfortable, like she can sit close if she wants. I want her to feel safe with me, and it's clear she doesn't. It's clear she doesn't think much of me at all.

"Do you wanna come sit with me?" I ask, tipping my head towards the empty cushions to my left.

She shakes her head no and decides on the armchair I'm sure is Jackson's - big with brown leather. It dwarfs her, and she draws her knees to her chest while waiting for me to begin. "Okay," she says, nodding. "Start."

"Chapter one. Meeting Mrs.," I begin. "My name is Junie B. Jones. The B stands for Beatrice. Except I don't like Beatrice. I just like B and that's all."

I sit with Athena in the living room for a long time and her attention doesn't waver once. It's strange, I think, that she's content with sitting so still and paying attention to just my voice and the occasional picture. I do a pretty good job at making the characters dynamic, but even I'm tired of hearing myself talk by the time the front door opens and Jackson comes in. I realize that we lost track of time and I didn't start dinner, so I go to put the book down only to get a protest from Athena. "No, don't stop!" she says desperately, leaning over in the armchair to clasp her hands around the arm. "Finish the chapter, please?"

"Hello, ladies," Jackson says, coming into the kitchen to set his things down in the breakfast nook. "What's up?"

"I want April to finish," Athena says, swiveling to look at him. "I want her to finish the book."

"Baby, April wants to get home. You can read more tomorrow. Anyway, shouldn't you be the one reading?"

"It was just for today," I murmur, but I'm not sure he hears.

"I want her to," she says. "I don't want to do it tomorrow. I want to read today."

"Thena, I'm sorry," he says.

"I really don't mind," I say. "We don't have much left."

He gives a quick shake of his head with the corners of his lips pulled down nonchalantly. "Don't worry about it," he says.

"Will you finish it then, Daddy?" Athena asks. "I want to know what happens."

"You know how to find that out?" he asks. She cocks her head, wordlessly prompting him. "You finish it," he says. "Yourself. You're the best reader in your class and you're telling me you can't read Junie B.?"

"I can," she says quietly, crossing her arms. "I just like it better when you do it."

Jackson ignores the statement and looks to me. I keep my eyes on Athena, though, feeling a bit sorry that Jackson won't give her the time of day. It's definitely not my place to tell him how to parent, but I hope he does finish the book once I leave. It would make her happy. "How was your day?" he asks as I stand up from the couch.

"Good," I say. "I'm sorry, I didn't start dinner. We basically just sat here and read."

He comes with me into the entryway, saying, "No worries. I've got it under control."

"Alright."

"I have something for you," he says, reaching into a bag that I hadn't noticed was sitting on the dining room table. "I'm sorry it took me so long."

I know what it is before he pulls anything out. "Oh, no…" I say. "I told you, I didn't…"

"I know what you told me," he says. "But it was my fault, what happened to your notebook. It happened under my roof, at least. It's only right that I replace what you lost."

Then, he brings the book around to the front of his body and my lips part in shock. It's a hardcover, bound notebook with an ornate design on the cover - a blue background with dainty, gilded roses. It's easily the most beautiful notebook I've ever seen. "Oh, wow," I say, but I don't reach out to take it.

"It's yours," he says.

I look up and meet his eyes to find them sparkling. "You really didn't have to," I say.

"Please, I insist," he says. "I want you to have it."

My heart feels fluttery as I take the notebook and our fingers brush. We linger for a moment, eyes locked on one another, then I hold the book close to my chest. It feels alive, possessive of a heartbeat, and I already can't wait to use it. "Thank you," I say earnestly. "Really, thank you. I love it."

"I thought you would," he says. "The design seemed to fit you."

"Yeah," I say, stroking the back where the intricate shapes are slightly risen from the cover. "Um… thank you."

He licks his lips, glancing at mine for a split second. So split, I wonder if I imagined it. "You're very welcome," he says with a soft nod. There's a pause before he says, "Oh. I've been meaning to ask. I have a dinner tomorrow night with a few clients - would you mind staying and putting Athena to bed? I won't be later than 10."

"Oh," I say. "Sure. I'm happy to."

"Great," he says. "We'll do a bath tonight, so you won't have much to worry about. No more than usual, anyway."

"Okay," I agree. "Sounds good."

With the notebook still held close to my heart, I bid him goodbye and walk down the front steps slowly. I haven't replaced the notebook myself since it happened because there wasn't time - I nearly forgot about his promise to do so. So, this was a pleasant surprise that I find myself happy to accept. Something about it is more special because it came from him, because he thought of me, because he gifted it to me. This came from him, specifically for my use. As I trace the sharp edges and smile to myself, I know it's something I'll treasure.

…

"Hi, sugar. Thought I'd call and check in."

I'm on the phone with my dad as I walk towards Chicago City Day School the next afternoon, backpack over my shoulders with the new notebook inside. I wasn't going to bring it, but considering I'm staying late at the Averys' tonight, I figured I'd need something to do. I don't plan on letting Athena know that I have it, though. I don't want to risk anything happening to it.

"Hi, Daddy," I say with a smile. It's good to hear his voice. We don't talk often, but when we do, it wraps a security blanket around me for the rest of the day.

"How've you been?" he asks.

"Okay," I say, wishing that I could vent about the troubles with Athena. I can't, though. He wouldn't understand. "Just living life in the city."

"How's the job search going?" he says.

I've been out of nursing school for a while now. My excuses don't work anymore - too much time has passed for those. I knew he would ask - it was inevitable - so I had a tiny fib ready. "It's good," I say. "I actually found something."

"Oh, really!" he says. "What?"

"I'm working with kids," I say, which isn't technically a lie. Not a huge one, at least. "At a small hospital around here. You probably wouldn't know it. But… I like it. It's challenging; the kids have their own issues, but I really like helping them."

"Of course you do," he says, and I can hear him beaming. "I'm so proud of you, sug. Really, really proud of you."

"Thanks, dad."

"I'm being serious," he says. "Your mom would've…" He pauses and I hear him smile. "Yeah."

My face burns and my heart clogs my throat when he cuts himself off. I hadn't wanted him to go there, though I worried he would. I'm glad that he stopped. My mom would probably love the fake job I told him about, but she wouldn't love the fact that I lied. I don't know what she would think about my job with Athena - if she would approve or not. I'm not sure what she would think about anything, anything about my life. I never got the chance to know her well enough for that.

"Thanks," I breathe.

"Are you at work now?" he asks.

I eye the school and stop in my tracks, bringing the phone closer to my face. "Uh, no," I say. "Why?"

"Thought I heard kids," he says.

I watch the kids playing on the playground, the little ones who get out early. "Oh," I say. "Well, I mean, I'm just outside."

"I can let you go, then," he says. "But it was so good to hear your voice. Tell me you're coming home to visit soon? I'd love to see you, sug. It's been too long."

"Sure," I say. "Just let me look at my calendar."

We hang up and my chest feels heavy once we do. I don't like lying, I know it isn't fair, but he would never approve of how I'm using - or not using - my nursing degree that he paid for. I don't know how I would go about telling him it's not what I want to do. He wouldn't understand that this nannying job is to keep me afloat until I can make it to LA to sing, or until someone spots me here. He wouldn't get it. I'm aware of how teenage that mindset is, but it's true. He and I don't see things the same way, a lot of things. We've gotten better at it over the years, but there are some things we don't see eye-to-eye on. Like how he can bring up the subject of my mom so casually – that's something I have a hard time doing. Luckily, though, he's learned how to stop himself.

"Hi, Athena," I say a few minutes later as she walks down the front steps, eyes on her feet. "How was your day?"

"Not good."

"Oh no," I say as we start to walk towards home. "Why not?"

She shrugs and I assume she won't respond, but she eventually does. "I want to see my dad," she mumbles.

"He'll be home later," I say. "Until then, we get to hang out."

"I want him," she presses.

I chew the inside of my lip and wonder if I should ask the question on the forefront of my mind. We spend about half a block in silence until I work up the gumption to speak again. "Do you get to spend a lot of time with him?" I ask hesitantly.

She keeps her eyes grounded on the sidewalk, stepping steadily as her flats click against the pavement. "He works too much," she says.

I've noticed that, too. When Jackson comes home at night, his mind isn't necessarily at home with him. As I leave, his laptop usually comes out I assume to continue the work he'd just left. I think he expects Athena to entertain herself or work alongside him like some sort of tiny business partner. "Do you guys ever play together?" I ask.

"Play what?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say. "Hide-and-seek. Go Fish. Twister. Do a puzzle, or something."

She shakes her head. "Those are baby games."

"They're not, if you make them fun," I say. "And I know you could make them fun."

"Probably not."

I furrow my eyebrows a bit and continue. "How about watching TV?" I ask. "Do you ever watch TV together?"

"Daddy watches football," she says.

"Maybe you two could pick a movie sometime," I say. "One you both like. I think that would be cool."

"I don't know."

She resigns from the conversation and I decide that it's enough. I have to take it slow; baby steps will get me where I need to be. And even though our exchange might not seem like much to an outsider, I know it was. Even if by a millimeter, she let me in.

Our night together is quiet, mine and Athena's. I finish the Junie B. Jones book and if I'm not mistaken, she wears a soft smile once it ends. She eats a good dinner - I find she's not picky and is actually a fan of vegetables - and by the time 8:30 comes around, she's yawning. "Want me to tuck you in?" I ask.

She looks up, eyes wide and glistening like she's judging my next move before I make it. "No," she says. "I do it myself."

As she turns, I stare at the back of her head and wonder to myself how a 7-year-old got to be so independent - acting far beyond her years in a way that's not precocious, but stark and stoic. I'm not sure if she knows how to have fun or if she's even aware of the concept. A pang of sadness twists my heart as I wonder when the last time was that she laughed or roughhoused or stopped trying so hard to seem like an adult.

"Goodnight," I call up the stairs, but get no response. It's not that I expected one; I just want her to know that I care and that I'll be down here while she goes to sleep. I want her to know that she's taken care of and, because of that, is allowed to let her guard down.

There are footsteps upstairs for a little while as Athena brushes her teeth and gets ready for bed, but they don't last for long. Soon, everything is quiet save for the heating - scarily so. I wander around and look inside cupboards I've never investigated, pull open drawers to find nothing of interest, then see if there's anything good in the fridge. I debate turning on the TV, but my guess is there's not much to watch. There never is.

The minutes tick by slowly as I make laps around the house, getting used to it as if it were my own. I look at the clock after a while, expecting it to be somewhere close to 10, but it's nowhere near. In fact, it's barely 9.

I find myself in the front room alongside the grand piano, which isn't surprising. It's big, beautiful, and it draws me in - as it should. I sit on the cool bench and swipe both hands across the closed lid, convincing myself that I can feel a heartbeat underneath. This is an instrument dying to be played, I can tell that much. It's been sitting dormant for far too long, waiting for someone to create music from it. Watching life pass without sound, without a pulse. I'm ready to give it the life it deserves.

I lift the lid, met with 88 sparkling, familiar keys. They're untouched by dust, by fingerprints, by everyday existence. I can't help but smile as I come into contact with them, and when I press my thumb on middle C, the deep thrum of the note exhumes the piano right in front of me, because of me. "There you are," I say, warming up with a few scales.

Afterwards, I begin to play the first song that comes to mind - Ballade by Debussy. The notes come fluidly and gently, as always, and I close my eyes as they do. The piano responds beautifully; our relationship is already symbiotic. The sound is slightly out of tune due to lack of use, but it's nothing I can't look past.

Since my eyes are closed, I'm past the halfway point in the song before I sense the presence of another person. I hear soft footsteps in the back of my mind, and I'm jolted back to the real world when I hear a wisp of a voice say "Mommy?"

Immediately, I stop playing and turn my head to find Athena standing at the bottom of the stairs holding a tattered stuffed bunny. Her eyes are half-lidded and bleary, pajamas rumpled. "Sweetie," I say, caught by surprise. "It's just me." I walk over and kneel, one hand on her shoulder, seeing that her mind is far from wakeful. "Let's go back to bed."

She obediently heads up the stairs and into her room, lying with the bunny tucked under one arm. We hold eye contact for a moment, and as her eyes drift closed, she extends her arms in a universal request for a hug. With a bursting heart, I drop to my knees and hug her as she lies there, face in her floral-smelling hair, eyes closed. "I heard Mommy," she murmurs, arms still around my neck.

"Maybe you did," I whisper, if only to soothe her back to sleep and into a pleasant dream.

I go back downstairs and sit on the piano bench, not playing, until Jackson gets home. I'm deep in thought over what just happened, and I want to tell him about it but I'm not sure how. I don't want to dredge up drama for the sake of telling a story, but I feel like I need to. "Hi," he says quietly, taking his shoes off at the door. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," I begin, but I can't finish before Athena's small voice cuts through mine as she stands at the top of the stairs.

"Daddy," she says, just loud enough to be heard.

"Thena," he says, surprised. "Honey, it's so late. Go lay down, and I'll come tuck you in." Instantly, I feel guilty - like he must think I kept her up too late and put her down past bedtime.

"Daddy," she says again, having come down the stairs now. "I heard Mommy."

"You were dreaming, baby," he says, one hand on her back. "Come on. Upstairs."

I wait as he takes her back up, and when he comes down, I'm standing in the entryway. "I'm sorry," I say instantly. "I… it was me, playing the piano. And she must have thought…"

"Oh," he says, face blanching.

"I'm sorry," I repeat. "And please, tell her that I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to confuse her… or…"

"It's fine," he says, expression calming a bit. "I promise, it's fine. Someone should be using that." He smiles to himself. "She and I don't talk about Myla much. All she's seen of her mother are videos of her playing." He nods towards the grand. "That piano."

"Oh." A lump forms in my throat as I wring my hands. I had no idea - I would never have opened it had I known it was once hers. "I didn't know," I say.

"You couldn't have," he says. "It's okay. I'm glad you used it. Like I said, someone should."

"Okay," I whisper, smiling softly.

He pauses for a second, clears his throat, and blinks hard. "Um," he stammers. "I had no idea you played."

I nod. "Yeah," I say. "My whole life."

Now, it's his turn to softly smile. The expression makes it all the way to his eyes, which seem to melt with feeling. My knees go weak; I can barely stand it. "Seems there's a lot we don't know about each other," he says. "Would you like to stay for a drink? Just to talk. Just a drink."

My heart hammers so hard I'm surprised it doesn't burst from my chest and lie flopping on the floor. The air has come alive between us, pulsing with electricity, and I'm sure he feels it, too. The spark is undeniable and I'm terrified. Beyond terrified.

"I'm sorry," I say, acting on instinct though the last thing I want is to leave. "I should really get home."

"Of course," he says, ducking his head to hide the flush on his cheeks - I didn't miss it, though. "Of course, I'm sorry. I'll let you go."

He gets the door and I step through it, turning around once I'm standing on the porch. "See you tomorrow," I say, hands clasped together to keep them from doing something like grabbing his face and kissing him.

"Yes," he says. "I'll see you then."