The ballet studio lights spilled softly across the polished floor as you stood near the entrance, your fingers tightening around Stanley’s hand without realizing it. Through the glass window, you could see girls in pale skirts moving gracefully to the music—somewhere among them was his daughter. Next week, you would become her stepmother. Your chest felt tight.

Stanley didn’t let go of your hand. Instead, his grip grew warmer, steadier. He glanced at you with the same calm certainty he always carried whenever you doubted yourself.

“Hey,” he murmured gently, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “Everything’s going to be okay, sweetheart.”

Then he smiled—a reassuring, patient smile meant only for you. “She’s going to meet the woman I love.”