I tell her after she finishes the dance routine. “Thanks, Miss Rose!” she answers, smiling proudly. She’s ten-years-old and a born dancer. It makes me feel alive just watching her, and knowing she loves to dance as much as I did when I was her age, as much as I still do. I wait until the last child is picked up, and then lock up the studio. I slide into my car and drive home. I haven’t spoken to Ryan since last week, when he opened up to me and told me everything that went on back then. I still can’t believe of all the women, it was Sarah, my childhood best friend that tried to make a play for my husband. I haven’t seen Sarah since I returned, and I hope I never do. I never spoke to her after the incident, although she did try and call me a few times, and message me, giving me the most pathetic excuse of all time. She said she thought it was Reid. “How fucking convenient,” I mutter, making a scoffing sound at the thought. I had no idea about the issues Ryan had with his father.
