Willa’s mother arrived from work still wearing her pharmacy badge.
Frank had called only once.
He told her, “Come when you can. Willa is safe. But you need to see something.”
That sentence frightened her enough that she was there in twenty-two minutes.
Willa saw her through the glass and immediately stood.
Her mother entered the studio, looked at the silver costume, the forgotten sweater beneath the mirror, and the expression on her daughter’s face.
“What happened?”
Willa opened her mouth.
Miss Arden answered first.
“We have had an unfortunate misunderstanding about rehearsal expectations.”
Willa’s mother did not look at her.
She looked at Willa.
“What happened?” she asked again.
Willa began with the new steps.
Then the wall.
Then the shouting.
Then the sentence about ruining the recital.
Her voice became smaller with each detail, not because she was less certain, but because saying the words made her hear how bad they sounded outside her own head.
Her mother’s face crumpled when Willa said she had stayed because she did not want to disappoint her by quitting another activity.
“Oh, honey.”
Willa flinched at the sadness in her voice.
“I tried harder.”
“I know.”
“I practiced.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t want to be weak.”
Her mother dropped to her knees and took Willa’s hands.
“Leaving someone who treats you badly is not weakness.”
Willa looked at Frank.
He nodded.
