Breakfast With Daisy

As Zara turned toward the voice that had called her, her breath caught in her throat.

It had been years, but there was no mistaking her.

Melissa.

Her fingers curled slightly, a reflexive reaction to the past pressing in on her.

"Teacher Melissa," she greeted, the warmth in her voice faltering, her enthusiasm fading as quickly as it had come.

Melissa's lips stretched into a knowing smile as she stepped closer, taking Zara's hand in hers. Her touch was firm, grounding. "I knew my eyes weren't deceiving me." She studied Zara intently, the wrinkles around her deep brown eyes more pronounced than before. "How have you been? I saw the show..."

Zara swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

Melissa—the woman who had once believed in her more than anyone else. The woman who had shaped her into the ballerina she was supposed to become.

The woman she had failed.