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Rudolph chuckles and offers me the bottle. “Another glass of wine?”

“Ah… if you insist.” I hold out my glass, and he tips some wine into it.

I wonder whether he’s going to return to whatever he was going to say in the kitchen, but instead he says, “So, how’s the teaching year been?”

“Good. I really enjoy it—the kids, anyway. Not so much the politicking.” Not wanting to criticise my principal, I continue, “So you went to a conference today?”

He nods. “At 35 South.”

He’s referring to the exclusive luxury resort and events venue at the east end of the island. “I’ve never been there. What’s it like?”

“Oh, it’s fantastic. Gabriel Frost is the genius behind it. The conference covered literacy initiatives, curriculum changes, and strategies for supporting students with additional learning needs.”

“Sounds like great professional development. I haven’t been on any for ages.”

“Why not?” He frowns. “You were an excellent teacher. You should be a team leader or curriculum leader by now.”

“Not everyone appreciates me the way you did,” I joke.

His gaze searches mine. “Did something happen?”

“No. Let’s just say some people think I’m the wrong gender for primary teaching.”

“Hmm.”

I sip my wine. He’s a guy; he must have met with the same opposition over the years. Primary teaching has been dominated by women for many years, and some people are very open about their suspicion of men who want to work in the profession. I’ve applied for a couple of positions at my school, but even though I was interviewed, I was passed over both times. It could just be that the other candidates were better than me, but one had been there less time than I had, and several of my colleagues were surprised when I didn’t get the position.

Still, he’s not going to criticise a fellow principal, even if he agrees with me. He’s more professional than that.

“You’re very good with her,” he says after a while.

“Vix?”

His lips curve up. “Millie.”

I match his smile. “She’s a lovely little thing.”

“Vix was the same at her age. Full of energy.” His brows draw together. “She’s changed a lot over the past year.”

My heart aches. “Ah… it takes time to heal. She’s had a lot to cope with. Hopefully next year she’ll get some of her old spirit back.”

His eyes meet mine, and he doesn’t say anything, just sips his drink.

The sound of feet on the stairs ends the conversation, as Millie bursts in, dressed in a pair of pink pyjamas with unicorns on them.

“’Night, Grandad,” she says, leaping up onto his lap. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek.

“Goodnight, darling.” He gives her a hug, and then she jumps down and grabs my hand.

“Come on,” she says, pulling me up out of my chair. “It’s story time.”

I chuckle, put down my wine glass, and follow her up the stairs. Vix is in her room, turning on the lamp.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks as we go in.

“Of course.” I let Millie jump into the bed, then lie on it next to her. “Budge up.” She squeezes up a bit, and I pick up the book. She pushes up my arm, and as I lower it around her, she cuddles up to me to look at the picture.

I glance at Vix, wondering if she minds me holding her like this. She’s not my daughter, after all.