Blanche's POV
Back at the Callum Mansion, everyone had waited dinner for me.
The dining room buzzed with cozy energy—Camila squeezed between Amber and me, her plate piled high with glazed ham and buttery rolls while we both peeled shrimp for her. She was practically glowing, her eyes scrunched into tiny crescents.
"Mom, Aunt Blanche, tomorrow's the Thanksgiving show! I'm super excited... but also kinda nervous," Camila said, sucking tartar sauce off her thumb.
I smiled, though something heavy pressed against my ribs.
Amber wiped a crumb from Camila's chin. "Hey, don't stress. Aunt Blanche and I will be right there cheering. Just give it your all, sweetie. Gold star or not, you're our little superstar no matter what. Promise?"
Camila's giggles bubbled back up.
Then she paused, like something just hit her, and looked at me with worried brows. "Aunt Blanche... tomorrow's gonna be fine, right?"
She'd asked this same question before.
