Page 66 of War

I cough out a laugh, and behind me, my best friend groans.

“Ya know, Calliope says?—”

Before Hall can start in on another Calliope column colloquy, I slip my AirPods into my ears, scroll to my Hozier playlist, and close my eyes, wondering what my wife will text me next.

TWENTY-FOUR

AVA

Beaming,Josie darts across the room and skitters to a stop in front of me. “Did you see my plié?”

The past week hasn’t been so terrible, despite my irritation with my husband. I’m not proud of how I’ve handled communication with him. We’re supposed to be raising kids together, creating a safe, comforting unit for them. Instead, it feels as though I’ve been leading them toward an unstable environment.

After that kiss on our wedding day, I got swept up in a fairy tale. I let myself believe that this could be my happily ever after. But the contract was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. A reminder that I’m here to serve a purpose. And it has nothing to do with my own wants.

It triggered old hurts. Reminded me of the reason I was brought into this world in the first place—for the benefit of someone else—and I reacted badly.

But I won’t lie and say that some of my payback hasn’t been fun. The hot tub that was delivered two nights ago is definitely included in that fun. I had a grand old time sending Tyler a picture of me beneath the bubbles last night, making sure he couldn’t tell whether I was wearing a suit.

Of course I was. The kids were asleep, but I’m notthatunhinged.

Yet.

My week hasn’t totally revolved around torturing Tyler. Without him here, I’ve had the chance to get to know Brayden better. He showed me the gym in the basement and taught me how to use the punching bag. It’s done wonders for my aggression.

And I left work early today so I could pick Josie up from school and take her to ballet.

After a long drink from her water bottle, she pops up on the toes of her pastel pink ballet slippers to hug me. Since we arrived, I’ve been swamped with memory after memory. Each one hits me like a movie reel, as if I’m watching footage of someone else’s life.

Chasing after my sister, mimicking her every ballet move, wanting to be her more than anything.

“I did see your plié, love. It was amazing.” I crouch in front of her and tie the string that’s come loose into a bow.

“Josie tells me you’re a dancer as well.” The voice is deep and smooth.

Head tipped back, I peer up at her dance instructor. I was a bit surprised to find that she had a male teacher. In all the years I danced, I never had one.

I push my hair out of my face and stand with a laugh. “I haven’t really danced in years.”

The man has dark hair and blue eyes like Tyler, but that is where the similarities end. His eyes are warm rather than piercing, and he’s only a few inches taller than me. Dressed in a tight T-shirt, he’s clearly a work of art.

When I force my attention to his face, chastising myself for checking him out, I realize he’s doing a similar appraisal of me.

“You know what they say: it’s never too late to start over.”

I shake my head even as the idea of it, the atmosphere in this room alone, sends flutters through my belly.

With a single step closer, he gives me an encouraging smile. “We have adult classes.”

“I’d make a fool of myself.” I chuckle uncomfortably.

Head dipped, he lowers his voice. “I offer one-on-one instructiontoo. May help you feel more comfortable until you’re ready to join a class.”

Finally, I let myself honestly consider the idea, and my heart stutters. Dancing again, taking back one of my true passions, feels like a step forward. Like maybe it’s exactly what I need to feel like myself again. “Yeah, maybe,” I breathe, unable to hide my smile.

He brightens and takes a step back. “I’ve got to get in there before the little girls start pulling hair.”

“Right.”

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