The Finally Complete Family

The kindergarten's rubber track was scorching under the midsummer sun. I held Fiona's small hand as we stood just behind the starting line of the parent-child race. Her plump palm was damp with fine sweat, gripping my finger tightly. "Mom, the sun is so hot." Fiona tilted her little face up, tiny beads of sweat clinging to her temple, her small brows knitting together slightly. I took out a small towel and wiped her sweat away. "Just a little longer, then we'll get ice cream after the race." "Yay!" Fiona's eyes brightened, instantly forgetting the heat as she stood on tiptoe, gazing toward the far end of the track. The sunlight was harsh; as I raised my hand to shield my eyes, I suddenly met a pair of familiar eyes. Deep, searching, with a faint, barely noticeable flutter of feeling — it was Simon Shaw. He had changed so much, no longer the shy boy in a white shirt from years ago. Now dressed in a suit, standing tall, his brow bore the steady calm of a mature man. "Mom, that man has been watching us the whole time." Fiona tugged at the corner of my shirt. I jolted back to the moment, heart pounding wildly, fingertips tingling; instinctively, I gripped Fiona's hand tightly, but my feet felt nailed to the ground. Simon Shaw walked toward us, the soft tapping of his leather shoes on the rubber track. His gaze rested on my face for a few seconds before settling on Fiona, his eyes growing noticeably softer. "Long time no see, Natalie." He spoke first, his voice low and rich, blending old memories with a new resonance. I forced a smile. "Long time no see." "Is this your daughter?" His eyes drifted over Fiona with a hint of curiosity. "Yes, her name is Fiona." I avoided his gaze and looked toward the crowd. Fiona lifted her small face with a smile: "Hello, Mr., my name is Fiona Scott." "Fiona is truly adorable." Simon Shaw crouched down to meet her eyes. "How old are you?" "Four years old." Fiona answered crisply. As he rose, his eyes glanced at my ring finger—still bare. "Where is your husband? Didn't he come with you?" His tone was unreadable. A tightness seized my chest, and I lied instinctively: "He's busy with work, no time." Simon nodded without pressing further, though his gaze toward Fiona grew more complex. "The race is about to start—better get Fiona ready." "Okay." I took Fiona's hand and hurried away, a thin sheen of sweat already moistening my back. The race was lively; Fiona ran with all her might, her short legs flying. We didn't place, but she still smiled brightly. After the race, I knelt beside Fiona to wipe the sweat from her face when a bottle of lukewarm water was offered to us. "For Fiona—it's hot, so keep hydrated." Simon Shaw's voice rang out above us. Fiona accepted the bottle: "Thank you, Mr." "You're welcome." He looked at me. "It must be hard, raising a child on your own, isn't it?" I gripped the towel tightly, my fingertips white: "It's alright, I've gotten used to it." "If you need anything, just let me know." He left those words behind and turned away. Watching his retreating figure, my eyes grew warm. Fiona sensed something was wrong: "Mom, why are you crying?" I hugged her, burying my face in her hair: "It's nothing; Mom is proud of you, Fiona." Back at home, I pulled the brand-new transfer application form out of the drawer. I can't let Simon Shaw see Fiona anymore—I'm afraid he'll discover the truth and shatter the peace of our lives. "Mom, why do we have to change schools? I like the children here and Teacher Clark." Fiona leaned closer to ask. "Mom found a better kindergarten, with more toys and a bigger playground." I soothed her. She pouted, "But I still want to see Mr. Shaw; he's so gentle." A sharp ache struck my heart, and I quietly slipped the application form into my bag.