Ward

by Margot Scott

All I know is that Aidan O’Rourke wants to have dinner with me, and for no comprehensible reason, I want to give him what he wants. “I’d like that,” I say. “Thank you.”

If Grace is this beautiful at my table, I bet she’d look exquisite on her knees...

I want the girl, the dancer, the ray of sunshine on cracked concrete where daisies have managed to grow.

“Do you vow to give yourself over to me completely?” I ask one last time. I need her to be sure before I engage the locking mechanism. “I’m already yours, Sir.”

I hold him, feeling like a tiny ballerina who’s been living inside a keepsake box for years. Then Aidan cracked me open, filling my world with light and music.