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She supposed that she had changed, which meant that she’d accomplished what she’d come over here for. At least partly.

The big school bell rang and the children began to run toward the school doors.

“Walk, don’t run,” Ava said, and hurried after them to ensure that no one got hurt in the crush to get back to class.

THE CHILDREN FILTERED out of the classroom and Ava and Hope were alone.

She’d been dreading this moment, truthfully. Dreading it but knowing that it had to happen.

“We need to make a decision about the nativity play,” Hope said, putting chairs on desks.

“Right,” said Ava, who’d forgotten all about it. “Er, do you think it’s a good idea?”

Hope shrugged. “Traditionally it’s our class that does the nativity in the evening before the older children do their carol concert. The younger infants do one in the early afternoon. But there’s no reason we have to if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable, I just don’t know if it’s appropriate.”

Hope perched on the edge of a desk and Ava tried very hard not to look at her and failed miserably. “We have a diverse school. But we celebrate as many holidays as we can. Diwali, Hannukah, you name it, we’ll include it and teach our kids as much as possible about as many people as possible. I’m not sure I see why Christmas should be any different.”

“Fair point,” Ava said. She nodded. “Alright then, we’ll do a nativity. Are there costumes? Sets?”

“Even a script,” said Hope. “I’ll get everything together and you can look things over and then we’ll tell the kids about it at the end of the week.”

“Sure.”

Hope hesitated. “Assuming that you’ll still be here for the end of term, that is?”

Outside there was the noise of children running and playing, the sound of crisp leaves crunching underfoot. But inside, the classroom was quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Ava said.

“For what?” asked Hope. “You never promised me anything. We knew what we were doing. We decided not to think about the future, and so we pay the price for that. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“And yet I feel like I do,” Ava confessed. She came around the table so that she was opposite Hope, so that she had to put her hands behind her back to stop herself reaching out to touch her. So that she had to admit to herself that she very much wanted to touch her.

“It’s… fine.” Hope bit her lip. “Well, it’s not fine. But you know what I mean. We’re adults. We know how these things go.”

“We do,” Ava allowed. “I’m sorry it had to end sooner than we imagined.” Because after all, they’d barely had anything at all.

“I’m sorry that you had to tell Alice like that. She was devastated.”

Which reinforced what Mila had said. Ava nodded. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have blurted it out, I should have been more careful.”

Hope looked down at the ground and Ava wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her look so beautiful.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Hope asked.

Ava laughed a little. “I would say for giving me hope, but that doesn’t sound quite right. I do mean it though.”

“Do you?”

“I do. I came here thinking… I don’t know what. Thinking I was broken, knowing I was, but thinking that maybe I was unfixable. Maybe that I wouldn’t have anything again. You… you showed me that I’m not quite unfixable. That maybe I can build something new one day.”

“You’re welcome,” Hope said. She smiled a little too. “And thank you.”

“For?”