Chapter 4

Adrian stepped outside and moved in front of Vanessa.

"Come inside. Let's talk this through."

She shook her head and set the envelope on the entryway console.

"It takes time to find a replacement. Better to quit now than practice until the last day, only to find out I'm not wanted."

"No one said you weren't wanted."

I walked over, holding the photo.

"He said at the end of the season. You heard him."

Vanessa looked at me.

"I get to decide when I'm done too, don't I?"

"Yes."

Adrian's head snapped toward me.

I looked at him. "She's allowed to quit. And you already promised to find another partner."

"Claire, stop making this worse."

Vanessa pushed the key toward him, then turned and walked toward the driveway.

He hurried a couple of steps after her.

"Practice tomorrow night, same as usual. Don't contact our coach. I'll handle it."

She stopped. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

I stood in the open doorway and listened to my husband take back the promise he'd made half an hour earlier.

He didn't turn around until her car had pulled away.

"Happy now? She doesn't even want to finish the season."

"So you promised her you'd keep dancing together?"

"What was I supposed to do? We've spent six months preparing."

He picked up the envelope, then put it down.

"The studio bookings, the choreography, the extra practice. Paying back an entry fee won't fix all that. You haven't competed in years. You have no idea what changing partners means."

"I do."

"No, you don't. You have to learn to work with a new partner. The steps have to change. All that training could go to waste."

"Owen and I practiced for four months."

He stopped.

"Our coach had set aside time for us. Owen had booked time off. None of that magically disappeared when you asked me to quit."

He tugged irritably at his collar.

"But things worked out fine for you, didn't they?"

I looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"You had time for your design work. You weren't exhausting yourself every weekend. We got married. We bought a house. You have everything you need."

He gestured toward the upper floor.

"Just because I stopped bringing it up doesn't mean I stopped wanting to dance."

"Then why are you only saying something now?"

I looked down at the photo.

"Because you thanked me for putting our marriage first."

He pressed his lips together.

I waited. He reached for the key on the console.

"It's too late for this tonight. We'll talk another time."

I didn't stop him.

When I heard the shower running upstairs, I opened the wardrobe and lifted down the storage box from the top shelf.

My dance shoes were underneath the garment bag.

The shoe brush, spare laces, and a training pass with sessions still left on it were all neatly packed away.

I hadn't thrown any of it out.

I'd just put the box somewhere I needed a chair to reach.

The buckle on the right shoe was a little tight. Sitting on the carpet, I needed two tries to fasten it.

As soon as I stood, my calves tightened. I steadied myself against the wardrobe and slowly took a step.

In the mirror, I was still wearing the dress I hadn't gotten to dance in.

I picked up my phone and found Owen's number.

I typed, "How have you been?" Then deleted it.

The last real conversation we'd had was when I told him I was withdrawing from the competition. Pretending I was just making small talk felt more embarrassing than asking outright.

I wrote:

"Owen, I want to start dancing again. Would you be willing to practice with me once, just to help me ease back into it? If that doesn't work for you, I understand."

After I sent it, I kept my shoes on.

A few minutes later, the screen lit up.

"We can try one session. Tuesday at seven, Lydia's studio?"

I replied, "I'll be there."

Then I tucked my shoe bag into the bag I was taking to work the next day.