Her Night Dance

Keith arrived at nine, a bag of fruit in hand.

"Brought you some cherries, Anna. Care for a few?"

I tossed my phone onto the table in front of him. The screen glowed with Dorothy’s latest post:

*[I said I wanted something sour and sweet like cherries, and he ended up buying these. Lol.]*

"So Dorothy didn’t want them, and now I get the charity case?"

"Don’t be like that," he frowned.

He stepped closer, his arm slipping familiarly around my waist. "Is this because it’s been too long since we—"

I shoved him away hard, then doubled over, retching dryly right before his eyes.

A shadow crossed Keith’s face. "Anna, that’s enough. Don’t push your luck."

"What luck?" I pressed a hand to my chest, tears spilling freely. "Do you have any idea how many hateful calls I’ve gotten? I’m blacklisted by every major dance troupe. My career is over—just like that. Keith, what did I ever do wrong?"

I’d always had a mild temper, which really just meant I was easy to push around. Keith used to pinch my earlobe, over and over, gazing at me with tender affection. "Anna, you’re so easy to bully. What would you do without me?"

I never imagined he would be the one to discard me.

When my parents died in disgrace, everyone turned away. It was Keith who pulled me from the mud. He fought his family for me—I can still see him kneeling in the rain for what felt like hours. He took me far from that heartbreak, to start anew in another city. Even at my most wretched, he never gave up on me.

Now, after we’ve weathered the worst, this is my reward: his changed heart.

"Let’s get a divorce," I said, closing my eyes. "Just leave me a shred of dignity."

"Anna," he rubbed his temples, weary. "It’s not like you haven’t been criticized before. Why the dramatics now?"

My eyes flew open. I stared at him, disbelieving. "What did you say?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. "When your parents killed themselves, the whole country was criticizing you—"

"Get out!" I snatched a cushion from the sofa and hurled it at him like a madwoman. "Get out!"

He stood stunned—he’d never seen me like this—then stormed out in a huff. He even took that bag of cherries with him.

"Don’t want my charity? Fine. Let’s see how long your stubborn streak lasts."

Less than ten minutes after he left, Dorothy posted again.

*[First day officially moving in. The decor is so tacky, what’s with this typical guy’s taste?]*

The attached photo was of the apartment directly above mine. The "tacky" decor she mocked was something I had personally overseen.

Keith commented below: *[It really is pretty dated. Let’s tear it out and redo it.]*

I rubbed my sore, dry eyes. The tears had long since stopped. A home could be renovated. An old love could be replaced. To him, I was just a worn-out toy he’d grown tired of.

My phone buzzed with another harassing call. This time, I simply removed the SIM card and replaced it with the number I’d used years ago during my overseas performances. Back then, a prestigious international dance troupe had extended an olive branch. I’d turned it down because I couldn’t bear to be apart from Keith.

Hands trembling, I dialed the old contact. "Hello, is this Mr. Christian?"

Silence. If not for the faint sound of breathing, I’d have thought the line was dead.

Why wasn’t he speaking? Had he seen the scandal trending?

I clutched the phone, my palm slick with sweat. "Mr. Christian, please listen. I didn’t do any of those things. I tried to post a clarification, but all my accounts were locked. I made a new one, and everything was taken down within seconds. I—"

"Wait for me."

A muffled male voice came through—oddly familiar, yet nothing like the memory of blond-haired Christian.

I froze. "You’re not Christian?"

"Wait for me."

The voice repeated the phrase, and the call ended.

I was still trying to make sense of it when a text arrived: *[Boarding now. Phone off.]*

A few seconds later, another vibration: *[Wait for me to return. I’ll take you away from there.]*