“Mrs. Davenport, have you completely lost the plot? This is a prom, not the Mardi Gras!” The head of Year 11 clapped her hands in dismay. “Live butterflies? Where on earth would we even get them? And more importantlywhy?”
“Mrs. Whittaker, it’s meant to be special!” Tapping her pen against the list of ideas, Emily Davenport remained stubborn. “This is our childrens last school celebration. Theyll remember it forever!”
The PTA meeting for the Year 11 prom was in full swing in the headmasters office. Sophie sat quietly in the corner, her mind miles awayupcoming work deadlines, unpaid bills, and the nagging worry about her husband, who had seemed increasingly distant lately.
“Mrs. Carter, what do you think?” Mrs. Whittakers voice snapped Sophie back to reality. “You work in event planning, dont you?”
Straightening in her chair, Sophie collected her thoughts.
“I think we should focus on what really matters to the kids,” she said calmly. “Good music, a photo booth, maybe some light refreshments. Everything else is just unnecessary stress on the budgetand our sanity.”
Emily pursed her lips. “Oh, of course, youd say that. Always so practical. But the kids want magic!”
“The kids want to dance with their friends, not dodge fluttering insects,” Sophie countered gently. “Ask Charlotte if you dont believe me.”
The mention of her daughter softened Emily slightly.
“Fine, lets take a vote. Whos in favour of keeping it simple?”
Most hands went up, and Sophie exhaled in relief. One problem down. Now, if only she could figure out what was going on at home.
Leaving the meeting, she dialled her husbands number.
“Oliver? Youre still at work?” she asked, weaving through the car park.
“Yeah, swamped,” he replied, sounding exhausted. “Major deadline. Dont wait up.”
“Again?” She couldnt hide her frustration. “Third time this week.”
“Soph, not now,” he snapped. “Im working, not out having a laugh. And dont worry, Ill be there for Charlottes prom.”
“Right,” she said, deciding to drop it. “See you tomorrow.”
At home, Charlotte sat at the kitchen table, buried in a history textbook. GCSEs were over, but university loomed.
“Howd the meeting go?” she asked without looking up. “Save us from another one of Mrs. Davenports wild ideas?”
Sophie smiled, unpacking groceries. “You wont believe itshe wanted live butterflies.”
“Ugh,” Charlotte grimaced. “Id spend the whole night terrified one would land in my hair.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Sophie said, switching on the hob. “Dads working late again.”
“Shocker,” Charlotte shrugged. “Mum you dont think hes?”
“What?” Sophie froze, knife in hand.
“Nothing, forget it.”
But the seed was planted. Over the next fortnight, Sophie noticed everythingthe late nights, the hushed phone calls, the way Olivers posture stiffened when she entered the room.
Prom night arrived. Sophie had spent the morning at the salonhair, nails, a touch of makeup. At forty-five, she still turned heads, especially in the elegant navy dress Charlotte had insisted on.
“Youll make all the other mums jealous,” Charlotte teased, adjusting Sophies curls.
Charlotte herself looked stunning in white. Watching her, Sophie felt tears prickle.
“Oh, not this again,” Charlotte muttered, though her eyes glistened too. “If you ruin your makeup, Im disowning you.”
The school hall was transformedballoons, flowers, a photo booth with “Class of 2024” in glitter. Sophie took her seat, saving one for Oliver.
Fifteen minutes later, he still hadnt arrived. She texted: *Starting soon. Where are you?*
His reply came instantly: *On my way. Ten minutes.*
As Charlotte received her certificate, Sophie spotted Oliverstanding near the back, clapping. Next to him, a woman. A tall blonde in a red dress, whispering in his ear. The way he smiled at herthat smile used to be just for family.
Sophies stomach dropped. So that was it. The late nights, the secrecy. Hed brought her to their daughters prom.
Later, during the reception, Oliver approached with the blonde in tow.
“Sophie, this is Claire, my new bosss daughter. Claire, my wife.”
Claire offered a polite handshake. “Lovely to meet you. Sorry for intrudingDad insisted I tag along.”
Sophie forced a smile, studying her. No flirtation, no guiltjust mild awkwardness.
After the formalities, Oliver finally confessed the truth.
“I had a health scare,” he admitted, voice low. “MRI, tests They thought it might be serious. I only got the all-clear two days ago.”
Sophies anger melted into fear. “You idiot. You shouldve told me.”
“I didnt want to worry you before Charlottes big night,” he said softly.
“And Claire?”
“Just bad timing. Her fiancés moving here next week.”
Sophie laughed, relief washing over her.
“Guess Ive been watching too much *EastEnders*,” she muttered.
Hand in hand, they walked through the parktwenty years of marriage, and still learning to trust.
“Yknow,” Sophie said quietly, “when I saw you with her, my heart stopped. I thought Id lost you.”
Oliver squeezed her hand. “Never.”
And she believed him. Because some thingslike love, like familywere stronger than fear.
