Every Saturday, Steven left to “visit his parents,” but something didn’t add up. A new shirt, a jewelry receipt, and the flimsy excuses he gave had my mind racing, so I decided to follow him. What I discovered left me questioning everything I thought I knew about the man I loved.
Living with Steven felt like true happiness—or at least, it used to. We’d been inseparable for two years before that moment. We were the kind of couple that made others roll their eyes. Steven was attentive, witty, and, yes, stubborn as a mule when it came to admitting he was wrong.
But that stubbornness had seemed charming once. At that time, it felt like a wall between us.
My dance studio was my sanctuary, my pride and joy. Watching students find confidence and grace in their movements made every long day worth it. I often wished Steven would join me, if only for one class. But he always had an excuse.
“I’ve got two left feet,” he used to joke. “You don’t want me scaring off your clients.”
Lately, though, something had shifted.
Every Saturday, he disappeared, claiming he was visiting his parents. At first, I didn’t mind. Everyone needs time with their family, right? But after months of his dismissiveness, whenever I suggested tagging along, the unease began to creep in.
Then came the shirt.
It wasn’t one I’d seen before—soft, stylish, and completely unlike his usual choices.
“Is this new?” I’d asked casually, folding it with the rest of the laundry.
“Oh, yeah,” he said without looking up from his laptop. “Got it on sale a while back.”
Steven hates shopping!
I let it slide that time. A few days later, I found the receipt.
I wasn’t snooping. It was sticking out of the trash, practically waving at me. A jewelry store. My heart skipped a beat. Steven hadn’t mentioned buying jewelry. And he certainly hadn’t gifted me any recently.
“Hey, Steven,” I tried to sound breezy that night. “You’ve been acting… busy these days. Everything okay?”
“Busy?” He laughed, not even glancing up from his phone. “I guess work’s been hectic, but nothing crazy. Why?”
“No reason.” I forced a smile and leaned back against the pillows. But my mind raced.
Who was that jewelry for?
Saturday mornings became unbearable. Watching him lace up his shoes and grab his keys felt like slow torture.
“See you later,” he said, planting a quick kiss on my cheek before heading out.
That night, I lay awake, my thoughts spinning. By the time dawn crept through the curtains, my decision was made. Next Saturday, I am going to find out exactly what Steven is hiding.
***
Saturday morning arrived, and I slipped into my role as a covert detective.
Over breakfast, I casually buttered my toast and sipped coffee, keeping my tone light as I said, “I’ve got a class to teach today, so I’ll be out for most of the morning.”
Steven smiled, pulling on his jacket. “Alright. I’ll see you later, then.”
“Have fun at your parents’,” I added with a steady voice.
The door clicked shut behind him, and I sprang into action. My heart pounded as I grabbed my sunglasses, scarf, and keys, throwing on a jacket that I hoped screamed “inconspicuous.” I got into my car.
“Detective Clara reporting for duty,” I muttered, trying to psych myself up.
Steven’s car wasn’t hard to spot. I followed at a careful distance, trying to keep my hands from shaking on the wheel. Suddenly, he took an unexpected exit toward the business district, and my stomach dropped.
What could he possibly be doing here?
I trailed him to a little café with colorful flower boxes lining the windows. My breath caught as I watched him step out of the car.
And then I saw her—a blonde.
She was tall, elegant, and polished, the kind of woman who looked like she walked straight off a runway.
Steven smiled as he approached her, and they stepped inside. They looked so comfortable together, laughing and chatting like old friends.
Who is she?
Her face felt oddly familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why. My heart raced. Whatever that was, I wasn’t letting it end there. I had to follow them.
When Steven and the blonde climbed into his car, my hands tightened around the steering wheel as I followed at a safe distance. We drove through the business district, passing streets I barely recognized.
Where are they going?
Steven had always said his Saturdays were about family, but nothing about that ride screamed “family visit.”
When he turned into a sleek parking lot and stopped, the name on the window gleamed in the sunlight: a dance studio.
A dance studio? Is this some kind of joke? Steven, the man who claims he’d rather sprain his ankle than take a dance lesson, is here?
I parked a few spaces away and slipped out of my car, moving quickly but carefully. My scarf was pulled tight, sunglasses perched on my nose, though I wasn’t sure anyone would recognize me here.
The studio doors were slightly ajar, and I stepped inside, hugging the wall as I peeked around the corner. Steven stood in the center of the room, his hand firmly clasped in hers.
His movements were clumsy, his steps far from graceful, but there he was dancing. I stared at them, my chest tightening with every passing second.
He said he hated dancing! He told me it wasn’t his thing, that he’d never do it. And now this?
My eyes shifted to her. The way she moved was too familiar. The turn of her head, the precision in her steps… It clicked in an instant.
I know her! Daisy!
Daisy wasn’t just some random woman. She was one of my students. The one who left a few months ago, claiming she had “personal reasons” and couldn’t continue.
And now, here she is, not just stealing choreography but dancing with my boyfriend.
You’ve got to be kidding me!
This wasn’t just betrayal; it was a slap in the face. Steven, of all people, knew how much my studio meant to me. I felt anger bubbling up, hot and fierce. There was no way I was leaving quietly.
Without thinking, I grabbed my phone and called Jason, one of my fellow instructors.
“Jason, can you get to the studio? I’ll text the address.” I hissed into the phone.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice concerned.
“I’ll explain later. I need you here now. And bring my concert outfit from the locker. I’ll pay you double if you hurry.”
Jason must have sensed the urgency because fifteen minutes later, he walked in through the back door, garment bag in hand. I slipped into my best outfit—a shimmering, eye-catching ensemble that practically demanded attention.
“Are we… doing this?” Jason asked, clearly confused but willing to follow my lead.
“Oh, we’re doing this,” I said firmly.
With Jason in tow, I marched into the studio, every step deliberate, my head held high.
Steven froze mid-step, his face going pale. The blonde’s smile disappeared, replaced with an uncomfortable, forced expression.
“Clara?” Steven stammered, taking a hesitant step toward me.
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I signaled to Jason, and we danced with passion.
What followed was nothing short of show-stopping. Every step, every turn, every dramatic pause was filled with purpose. Jason and I performed as if the world was watching, our movements sharp, fluid, and impossible to look away from.
When the music stopped, all eyes were on us. I turned to Daisy first, my voice icy and cutting.
“You’re not welcome in my studio anymore. You’ve stolen enough! My choreography, and my boyfriend.”
Then I turned to Steven standing there, looking like he didn’t know whether to apologize or run. My glare was sharp enough to slice through steel.
“Dance until your feet fall off for all I care,” I said coldly. “Just don’t do it with me.”
Without waiting for a response, I spun on my heel and stormed out of the studio. I could hear Steven calling after me, “Honey! Come on! I did it for us!”
His voice panicked, but I didn’t stop.
That day, I changed the house’s locks, packed Steven’s things, and left them neatly by the door. It was time for him to find somewhere else to waltz around.
The next morning, I stepped into my studio. The familiar scent of lavender cleaner greeted me, but it did little to calm the storm inside. I was ready to drown myself in work, to push away every thought of Steven.
“This is my space,” I told myself. “My sanctuary.”
But as I turned the corner, I froze.
Steven stood in the middle of the studio, holding an enormous bouquet of roses. He was dressed neatly in that very shirt and new trousers.
My bag slipped off my shoulder.
“What are you doing here?”
He set the bouquet on the bench and turned to face me. Somebody turned on the music, and slowly, Steven held out his hand.
For a moment, I stood frozen, unsure whether to yell at him or give in to the curiosity burning inside. Steven stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine. Then, as if the world went quiet, he started to dance.
His movements were smooth and deliberate, flowing with precision. I recognized the routine immediately, as I’d taught it countless times.
What is happening?
He stopped a few steps away, hand still extended. My body moved before my mind caught up, and I took his hand.
The music swirled as we danced. His steps mirrored mine perfectly, his frame strong and steady. It was the dance I’d always dreamed of sharing with him.
As the music faded, Steven dropped to one knee and pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.
“I did this for you. I wanted this moment to be perfect. I love you, Clara. Will you marry me?”
Tears welled in my eyes as I nodded and whispered, “Yes.”
Suddenly, applause erupted. I turned to see the studio door swing open. My friends, parents, and even Steven’s parents burst in, laughing and cheering.
“Surprise!” my best friend Mia shouted, holding a bottle of champagne.
Steven chuckled, wrapping an arm around me. “Everyone was in on it.”
My mom hugged me, tears in her eyes, while Steven’s mom dabbed hers with a tissue.
Later, Steven leaned down. “I booked the restaurant down the street for all of us. Let’s celebrate properly tonight.”
The evening was magical, filled with laughter, toasts, and happy tears. As Steven held my hand, I knew that it was the happiest day of my life.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: For years, I dreamed of that moment—a positive pregnancy test in my hands. I couldn’t wait to tell Clay, imagining his joy. But instead of celebrating, I found a Kinder Surprise at the door. Inside wasn’t a toy, but a note that shattered my world: “I’m divorcing you.” Read the full story here.
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