“I don’t want to go inside,” I say quietly.
Avros studies my face, searching for doubt. He doesn’t find it.
“Tell me what you need and I’ll get it.”
“I forgot my phone yesterday, and maybe the photo on the hall table?” I offer, my voice quieter than I intended.
He gets out of the car like the world belongs to him and disappears into the building. Within minutes, he is back, handing me my phone and the photo of my parents and me fromwhen I was smaller. It’s the only photo I have from my childhood where I’m not wearing a tutu.
“Is there anywhere else you’d like to go?” he asks.
“The company,” I answer. “I need to end it properly.”
He nods once and pulls back into traffic without comment.
The ballet company building is the same as it always is. I used to find comfort in the familiarity, but now it looks as tired as it made me feel in the last year or so. I walk in alone, my ankle protesting with every step, and it feels like stepping into a past that’s already moved on without me.
The director barely looks up when I tell him I’m quitting. There’s a polite murmur of regret, a practiced line about unfortunate injuries and wishing me well before he shouts Hannah’s name. I walk away before she arrives, I don’t want to leave feeling more bitter than I already do, and she deserves success just as much as I did.
On my way out, another dancer asks if I’ve seen John.
I meet her gaze steadily. “No. Not since I left yesterday.”
She nods, already distracted, already thinking about something else.
None of them ever cared about me. Not really.
They cared about what I produced, what I endured, what I could be replaced with when I stopped being profitable. The realization hurts, but it also frees me. I walk out lighter than I walked in.
When I return to the car, Avros is waiting exactly where he said he would be.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, and mean it.
I call my landlord on the drive back and end the lease. Then I call my parents and tell them about my ankle, about quitting. It feels like peeling off a bandage I’ve kept in place too long. They’re quieter than I expect, then supportive in a way that makes my throat ache.
They offer to visit.
“Not yet,” I say. “I’m… figuring things out. Taking some time to find me feet.”
They understand. Or at least, they respect it. Then they ask me to come back for a visit soon.
When I hang up, I sit back and close my eyes, breathing deeply. The past feels like it’s loosening its grip on me at last.
Avros reaches over and rests his hand on my knee, steady and warm.
I place my hand over his. Relief making its way through my blood stream and cleansing my organs.
That’s how I know without a shadow of a doubt, that I’ve made the right decision.
Avros
The main house hasn’t changed. But then it never does.
Stone and glass and quiet authority, set back from the world like it doesn’t need to acknowledge anything beyond its own borders. Emma walks beside me as we cross the drive, her hand tucked into the crook of my arm more for balance than comfort, though I feel the way her fingers tighten slightly as we approach the front steps.
Yury is waiting for us in his study.
