For months, Steven vanished every Saturday, claiming he was visiting his parents. But when I found a new shirt he never told me about—and a jewelry store receipt not meant for me—my heart sank. Something wasn’t right. So I followed him.
He met a stunning blonde and took her… to a dance studio. Steven—the same man who swore he’d never dance—was holding her hand and learning my choreography. And the blonde? Daisy, my former student, the one who “quit for personal reasons.” My stomach twisted. Betrayal had never felt so personal.
But I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I performed.
With my friend Jason, I stormed into that studio and danced like my life depended on it. When the music ended, I told Daisy she was no longer welcome—and told Steven we were done.
Or so I thought.
The next morning, Steven returned—not to explain, but to dance. Alone, perfectly, to my routine. Then, he knelt and proposed. “I did this for you. I wanted to be your partner in every way.”
Tears fell. I said yes.
