Daddy Doesn't Remember Mommy

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6: Shattered Reflections

Elodie's POV

The doors hissed shut behind me, finally cutting off the bright lights and the suffocating tension of the main hallway.

I didn't stop moving. I couldn't. I practically threw myself down the narrow, dimly lit corridor that led to the abandoned prop storage. It was a dusty, forgotten corner of the theater.

The second I knew I was completely alone, my legs simply stopped working.

My knees gave out. I hit the rough brick wall and slid down until I was sitting on the cold, scuffed floorboards.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs, trying desperately to hold myself together. It was useless. The dam broke.

A sob ripped its way out of my throat. I pressed both hands over my mouth, terrified that someone would hear me falling apart. My shoulders shook violently. Tears poured down my face, hot and fast, ruining whatever was left of my stage makeup.

*“Have we met before?”*

His voice echoed in my head over and over again. It was the voice of a man who was looking at a complete stranger and trying to solve a complicated puzzle.

He truly didn't remember me.

The realization sank into my bones like jagged ice. For three years, a tiny, stupid part of my heart had secretly believed that maybe he was just angry. Maybe he was just punishing me for leaving. Maybe his toxic mother had just pushed him into acting cold to drive me away.

Seeing the honest confusion in his eyes just now... destroyed me. My husband was gone.

"Well, well. Look at this."

The sharp, mocking voice sliced through the quiet darkness.

I gasped as my head snapped up. Through my blurred vision, I saw the sleek, imposing silhouette of Elise Dupuis standing at the end of the prop aisle.

She stepped forward into the dim overhead light, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

She had already changed into a designer silk blouse and tailored slacks, looking like she belonged on a fashion runway instead of a dusty backstage floor. A cruel, triumphant smirk twisted her perfectly painted lips.

"Elise," I whispered, quickly wiping the back of my hand across my wet cheeks.

I hated that she was seeing me like this, broken and vulnerable on the floor.

"The great Elodie Moreau, crying in a dirty hallway like a dumped teenager," Elise taunted, taking slow, deliberate steps toward me.

Her heels clicked loudly against the floorboards, echoing in the quiet space.

"I have to admit, this is not the victorious backstage celebration I expected from our brand new principal ballerina. What happened? Did reality finally set in? Did you realize you completely botched that solo and embarrassed the entire company?"

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and took a deep trembling breath forcing the air deep down into my lungs.

"Go away Elise," I said.

My voice was still thick with tears but steadier this time.

"I am not in the mood for your bullshit tonight."

"Oh, I bet you aren't," she laughed, a high, cold sound that grated on my nerves.

She stopped a few feet away from me, looking down her.

"You know, everyone is talking out there. They are all wondering how a washed-up housewife managed to steal the lead role from dancers who actually put in the work. And now, look at you. You can't even handle the pressure of opening night. You are a fragile, emotional mess. Do you honestly think you deserve to be the face of the New York City Ballet? Because sitting here weeping on the floor... it’s just pathetic."

A few minutes ago, her cruel words might have actually broken me. But after looking into Reese's blank, unknowing eyes, Elise's petty jealousy felt so unbelievably small. It felt like absolutely nothing.

I placed my hands on the floor and slowly pushed myself up to my feet.

I brushed the dust off my jeans with a sooth and deliberate movement. I didn't glare at her or raise my voice. I just looked at her with quiet, unshakeable calm.

"Are you finished?" I asked softly.

Elise blinked, clearly thrown off by my lack of anger.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked if you were finished," I repeated, keeping my voice low and completely even.

I stepped closer to her, closing the distance until I was looking right into her icy blue eyes.

"Because if this is your grand strategy to get into my head, you really need to try harder. You want this role? You want to be the principal? Then dance better than me. Earn it on the stage. Following me into a dark hallway to kick me when you think I'm down doesn't make you a star, Elise. It just makes you a bully who is terrified she isn't good enough."

Her perfect face flushed a dark, angry red. Her mouth opened but no words came out.

It was obvious my quiet confidence completely paralyzed her.

"Listen to me, you arrogant bitch.." she finally started, taking an aggressive step forward.

"That is quite enough, Elise."

The commanding, authoritative voice cracked through the corridor like a physical whip.

We both turned. Rebecca Gallagher stood at the entrance of the aisle. Even out of her ballet gear, wearing a simple beige trench coat and holding a leather handbag, she radiated power.

Her silver-blonde hair was perfectly styled and her eyes were narrowed in absolute fury as she stared Elise down.

"Rebecca," Elise stammered, immediately taking a quick step back from me.

"I was just... we were just talking about the performance."

"You were doing no such thing," Rebecca said coldly, walking toward us with long graceful strides.

She didn't even look at me. Her entire focus was on Elise.

"I heard every single word. If you ever speak to a fellow dancer that way again, especially the principal of this company, I will personally see to it that you are scrubbing the studio floors for the rest of the season. Do you understand me?"

Elise swallowed hard. Her arrogance completely evaporated under Rebecca's glare.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now get out of my sight and go home."

Elise didn't say another word. She shot me one last, venomous look before spinning around and marching out of the corridor. The doors slammed shut behind her.

The sudden silence in the hallway felt incredibly heavy. I let out a long, shaky breath, feeling the adrenaline slowly drain out of my tired muscles.

I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes for a brief second.

"Thank you," I whispered.

I heard the soft rustle of Rebecca's coat as she stepped closer. When I opened my eyes, her fierce expression had completely melted away, replaced by a look of maternal warmth.

She reached out and her cool fingers gently wiped away a stray tear that had escaped down my cheek.

"Are you alright, Elodie?" she asked softly, her voice dropping to a gentle murmur.

"And don't give me the polite, PR-trained answer. I want the truth. You look like you've just seen a ghost."

I looked into her wise, knowing eyes. She was my mentor. She was the only person in this cutthroat building who actually cared about me as a human being.

A desperate and exhausted part of me wanted to spill everything right then and there. I wanted to tell her about Reese and the divorce but I couldn't.

The stakes were simply too high. If the media caught wind of my secret, if Helena Bennett found out Chloe existed before I had a solid plan to protect her, my daughter's peaceful life would be destroyed by the billionaire circus.

"I'm okay," I lied, forcing a tired smile onto my face.

I looked down at my hands. "It's just the adrenaline. The pressure of tonight, the crowd... and then messing up that turn because of the lights. It all just crashed down on me at once. I just needed a minute to breathe."

Rebecca studied my face for a long, quiet moment. Her eyes searched mine, scanning the micro-expressions I was trying so hard to hide.

She was incredibly perceptive and I knew she didn't buy my excuse for a single second.

Thankfully, she didn't push.

"Opening nights are always overwhelming," Rebecca said smoothly, playing along to give me an out.

She reached out and squeezed my hand firmly. "You carry a lot of weight on those beautiful shoulders of yours, Elodie but you don't have to carry it all alone. Remember that. My door is always open."

"I know," I said, my voice thick with genuine gratitude.

"Thank you, Rebecca. For everything. For always being there for me when the wolves start circling."

She offered a soft smile. "Go get your daughter. Go home and rest. You earned it tonight."

I nodded, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. I gave her hand one last squeeze before turning around and walking toward the back exit.

I needed to see Chloe. I needed to hold my little girl and remind myself why I was fighting so hard in the first place.

I pushed open the exit doors and stepped out into the cool New York night. My mind quickly darted to the events a few minutes ago.

I remembered Rebecca Gallagher standing in the dim corridor.

Her arms were crossed over her chest and her brow was deeply furrowed with growing concern.

Something about the look on her face told me she knew everything.

She knew the tears on my face had absolutely nothing to do with stage fright or the pressure of the ballet. She knew I was hiding something dangerous…..