Chapter 3 - The Aftermath in the Parking Lot
The studio hallway emptied quickly as parents and dancers filtered out into the October night, their laughter and congratulations drifting back like echoes from another world. The door to Mrs. Ames’s office stayed firmly shut for another twenty minutes while Mom, Dad, and the director sorted through the wreckage. I sat on a bench outside, my back pressed against the cold drywall, watching the rain beat against the glass double doors.
Elena brought Chloe a paper cup of warm cider. The eight-year-old sat three feet away from me, her legs swinging nervously off the edge of the bench. She didn't have her tiara on anymore; it lay discarded beside her bag.
""Bella?"" she asked softly, her voice barely louder than the patter of the rain.
I turned my head. My chest ached with an ugly, hollow shame. ""Yeah?""
""Did I do something bad?""
The innocence of the question broke whatever defensive shell I had left. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, looking straight at her. ""No, Chloe. You didn't do anything bad. You danced really well tonight. You were amazing.""
""Then why did you push me?"" she whispered, big tears welling up in her round, hazel eyes. ""I thought you liked helping me stretch.""
""Because I was angry, and I was jealous, and I was being stupid,"" I admitted, the truth burning my throat. ""I thought you got everything and I got nothing. But that wasn't your fault. It was never your fault. What I did was terrible, Chloe, and I am so, so sorry. I won't ever do it again. I promise.""
Chloe looked down at her cider, watching the tiny bubbles on the surface. ""Mommy said you were just mad because you weren't pretty enough to be the Traveler.""
A shock of cold rage rippled through my veins, but I forced my voice to stay level. ""Your mom said that?""
Chloe nodded slowly. ""Before the show. She told me not to share my flowers with you because you’d try to ruin my dress. That’s why when you came backstage, I didn't smile at you. I thought you hated me.""
Before I could answer, the office door clicked open.
Mom walked out first, her jaw set, keys clutched tightly in her hand. Behind her came Dad, looking haggard, his shoulders slumped as if carrying a lead weight. Vanessa was nowhere to be seen; she had slipped out through the stage door ten minutes earlier to wait in the car.
""Isabella, grab your coat,"" Mom said gently. ""We’re going home.""
""Lauren, wait, please,"" Dad pleaded, following us into the corridor. ""We need to talk about this as a family. We can fix this. I can talk to Mrs. Ames—she said they might be able to review the original footage if Vanessa can recover it—""
""Recover it?"" Mom spun around, her eyes flashing with a fury that made Dad stop in his tracks. ""Your wife deliberately erased her hard work to keep her out of the show! You neglected your daughter for months because it was more convenient to let Vanessa play stage mom to Chloe! You don't get to fix this with a polite email, Patrick.""
""I was blind, Lauren! I admit that!"" Dad ran a frantic hand through his hair. ""I trusted her! I thought she was helping Isabella manage her schedule. I didn't know she was poisoning everything between them.""
""You should have known,"" Mom said coldly. ""Because when a father pays attention to his child, he notices when her dreams are being stolen right under his roof.""
Dad looked over at me, his eyes pleading. ""Bella... please. Come back to the house tonight. Let me talk to you. Let me make this right.""
I looked at him—really looked at him. I saw the expensive shoes, the guilt etched into his forehead, and the utter failure to protect me when it actually counted. I thought about the weeks I spent crying alone in my bedroom while he laughed downstairs watching television with Vanessa.
""No, Dad,"" I said quietly, pulling my jacket zipper up to my chin. ""I'm going home with Mom.""
He reached out a hand, but let it drop. ""Chloe... your sister is going with her mom tonight.""
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Chloe looked up at me, then scrambled off the bench. She ran over, wrapping her small arms around my waist in a fierce, clumsy hug. ""Don't be mad at me, Bella.""
I hugged her back, burying my face in her hair. ""I'm not mad at you, kiddo. Not at all.""
