Every Saturday, Steven said he was visiting his parents, but something felt off
—new clothes, distant behavior, and a jewelry receipt he never explained.
I tried to trust him, but my gut wouldn’t let it go. So one morning, I followed him. What I found shattered every assumption I had.
He wasn’t seeing his parents—he was dancing with another woman.
Not just any woman, but Daisy, a former student of mine who had disappeared months ago.
They were laughing, practicing in a studio he said he’d never set foot in. My heart sank—he lied to me and betrayed everything I built.
Fueled by heartbreak, I crashed their lesson in full performance gear, stole the spotlight with a fiery routine,
and exposed them both. Steven stood speechless as I threw his betrayal in his face.
“Dance all you want,” I told him. “Just not with me.” Then I walked out—and changed the locks.
The next morning, Steven surprised me in my own studio, surrounded by family and friends.
Turns out, the secret dance lessons were for me—a proposal in motion. He dropped to one knee,
ring in hand, tears in his eyes. I said yes, overwhelmed, realizing I almost gave up on love that was just learning how to dance for me.
