Pretend hearts, real love

Chapter 1: Empty Seats The lights dimmed in Maplewood Elementary's small auditorium, and the soft hum of chatter dipped into restrained expectation. Aiden Sullivan squirmed in his seat, third row from the stage, his fists tightly knotted in his lap. He glanced down at the crumpled program in his hands, the letters "Kindergarten Spring Recital" printed in bold, bubblegum-pink letters. His heart accelerated a little, not with excitement, but with nervousness though not for himself. Emily's name was third in the program, after two group songs and a brief narration by her classmate. The room hummed with noise whispered conversations, shutter clicks from cameras, kids calling out to parents but Aiden felt oddly removed. Couples nearby leaned in close, laughing quietly together. Grandparents bounced younger siblings on their laps. There were floral arrangements, glittery homemade signs with children's names on them, and a crowd of proud, expectant faces. It was warm. Vibrant. Aiden felt the edges of it brush against him but couldn't quite join in. Not without her. He squirmed once more, pulling at his blazer. He'd come here straight from a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. His scrubs were neatly folded in a duffel on the backseat of his car. He'd shaved quickly, nicking his jaw, and his tie was knotted slightly off-center. None of that mattered. Emily mattered. His little girl, only five and already the brightest thing in his life, had been rehearsing her song every night for weeks. Their small apartment had been filled with the sound of her voice off-key at times, enthusiastic others but always, always heartfelt. The curtain shimmered, and a teacher emerged to welcome the audience. Aiden tried to listen, but his eyes kept scanning the chairs. He was alone. It wasn't anything new. He'd grown used to the empty chair beside him at events like this. Hospital stays. Parent-teacher conferences. But it never failed to hurt. He drew a deep breath and straightened up as the children began to come on stage, Emily among them, in a pastel yellow dress that brought out the gold in her curls. She spotted him immediately and smiled, waving both hands. Aiden waved back, heart soaring. In that instant, it didn't matter who wasn't present. She saw him. She was his world, and he was hers. Emily stood at the far right of her line, her small hands clasped behind her back. When the music started, she sang with a will, though she was slightly off-timing. She knew all the words by heart, yet her eyes flicked constantly to the audience, as if searching. For him? No, she knew he was already there. Aiden followed her gaze and watched her scanning the front rows with her eyes, her little smile slipping just a bit. He didn't give it much thought. Maybe she was looking for a friend. Or nerves, maybe. But the faint sag of her shoulders following the second verse irritated him. Parents stormed the stage following the performance, arms open, cameras flashing. Aiden waited, letting the crowd thin. When Emily spotted him again, she ran, her gold shoes clacking across the stage floor. "Daddy!" she screamed, throwing herself into his arms. He lifted her up easily, kissing her cheek. "You were fantastic, Em. You remembered all your lines." She giggled. "I got the end a bit mixed up." "No one did. I promise." She wrapped her arms around his neck, but her voice dropped to a whisper. "Some kids said I don't have a mommy." Aiden tensed. Emily leaned back far enough to examine him. Her green eyes so like her mother's were serious, a little confused. "They said it's weird." He coughed and set her down gently, squatting so they were eye to eye. "That's not true, sweetie. You're not weird. Sometimes families don't look alike. But that doesn't make them not right." She played with the hem of her dress. "They said I was made wrong." The words were a kick in the solar plexus. He took a slow breath, pushing down the anger that struggled to rise. "You were made perfect," he said to her stoutly. "And I love you just the way you are. Anyone who says otherwise is wrong. Okay?" She nodded slowly, but the smile didn't quite return. That night, after Emily had fallen asleep with her stuffed toy clutched in her arms, Aiden sat at the kitchen table, staring at a coloring page she'd left on the table. It was a picture of their family just the two of them. He was tall and smiling, and she was holding his hand. In the corner was a sun with a big grin and flowers with petals that were a bit crooked. He ran his hand over his face. How do you explain to a five-year-old that sometimes love doesn't come in the form the world wishes it to? That her mother had gone away when she was barely two months old? That despite his best efforts, he was never quite able to fill the gap? He didn't even have the energy to be bitter anymore. He was just tired. And afraid. Afraid that Emily would grow up thinking she was less because someone had decided to walk away. His phone vibrated. A text from his little sister, Nora. Nora: How'd the recital go? Did Em do her Beyonce thing? Aiden: She crushed it. Nora: Tell her Auntie Nora says she's a star. Need me to pick her up from school tomorrow? Aiden: Please. Got another double shift. Thanks, Nor. Nora: Anytime. We've got this. Love you, bro. Aiden: Love you too. He slumped back in the chair, eyes on the ceiling. The apartment was silent. He could still hear Emily's small voice, sincere, full of delight. He had to keep that alive. For her. The next day, Aiden stopped by the school office before his shift. The principal, Mrs. Darling, greeted him with a warm smile. He told her what Emily had told him. She listened, nodding slowly. "We do try to address inclusivity in the classroom," she said. "But kids will often repeat what they hear at home.". "I know that," Aiden replied, "but I don't want her to be ashamed of who she is. Or think there's something wrong with our family." Mrs. Darling pursed her lips. "I'll speak with her teacher. We'll make sure Emily knows she's valued. And I'll suggest a class activity on diverse family structures. It usually helps." Aiden thanked her and left, only half-reassured. He disliked that he couldn't shield Emily from everything. Disliked his own strength's limitations. At the end of the week, Emily came home with a crayon drawing of several different families some with two moms, some with two dads, some with grandparents, some with a single parent. She was proud of it. Miss Taylor said each family is unique," she relayed over spaghetti. "And mine's even more unique 'cause I have you." Aiden smiled, blinking somewhat. "You certainly do." She smiled. "Can we watch Moana?" "Only if you sing along." "Deal! Later that night, as they curled up on the couch, Emily tucked into his side, Aiden began to feel the weight of the empty seat shift. It would never completely disappear. But it no longer defined them. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You and me, kid. Always." Emily muttered half asleep, "Always." And for the first time in a long while, that felt like enough.