Every Saturday, Steven claimed he was going to visit his parents—but something felt off. New clothes, a mysterious jewelry receipt, and his shaky excuses set off alarms in my head. I decided to follow him, and what I uncovered made me question everything I thought I knew about the man I loved.
Living with Steven had once been pure happiness. For two years, we were inseparable—the kind of couple that made people roll their eyes. He was attentive, sharp-witted, and stubborn as could be, but that stubbornness had once seemed endearing. Now, it felt like a barrier between us.
My dance studio was my sanctuary, a place where I found joy teaching students to move with confidence. I often hoped Steven might join one of my classes, but he always laughed it off with jokes about having “two left feet” and scaring off my clients.
But lately, something had changed.
Every Saturday, Steven vanished, insisting he was off to see his parents. At first, I didn’t mind—family time is important. But after months of his vague answers whenever I asked to come along, doubt began to creep in.
Then came the new shirt.
It was soft, stylish, nothing like the clothes he usually picked. When I casually asked about it, he shrugged it off, claiming he’d bought it on sale “a while ago.” But Steven hates shopping! That excuse didn’t sit right.
Then, a few days later, I spotted the receipt—peeking out of the trash. From a jewelry store. My heart lurched. Steven hadn’t mentioned buying any jewelry. And he certainly hadn’t given me anything recently.
“Hey Steven,” I tried casually one evening. “You seem busy lately. Everything okay?”
He chuckled without looking up. “Work’s hectic, but nothing crazy. Why?”
“No reason,” I said, forcing a smile. But my mind was spinning. Who was the jewelry for?
Saturday mornings became unbearable. Watching him get ready and leave felt like torture.
“See you later,” he said, kissing my cheek lightly before heading out.
That night, I lay awake, mind racing. By dawn, I’d made up my mind. The next Saturday, I would find out what Steven was hiding.
Saturday morning came, and I slipped into detective mode.
Over breakfast, I kept my voice light. “I’ve got a class today, so I’ll be out most of the morning.”
Steven smiled, pulling on his jacket. “Okay, see you later.”
“Have fun at your parents’,” I said, steady despite the nerves knotting my stomach.
Once he left, I grabbed my sunglasses, scarf, and keys—doing my best to look “inconspicuous”—and followed his car at a safe distance. My heart pounded as he took an unexpected exit into the business district.
What was he doing here?
He pulled up at a charming café with flower boxes on the windowsill. My breath caught when I saw her—a tall, blonde woman, elegant and poised, like she belonged on a runway.
Steven smiled warmly as they greeted each other, stepping inside the café, laughing and chatting like old friends.
Who was she?
Her face felt familiar, but I couldn’t place it. My heart pounded harder. I wasn’t about to let this go.
When Steven and the blonde left the café and got into his car, I kept following. We drove through streets I barely knew.
Where were they headed?
Steven had always insisted his Saturdays were for family, but nothing about this felt right.
He pulled into a sleek parking lot. The sign caught my eye: a dance studio.
A dance studio? Steven, who’d always said he’d rather break an ankle than dance, was here?
I parked nearby and sneaked inside. The door was slightly open. Peeking around the corner, I saw Steven—holding the blonde’s hand.
His steps were awkward and unpolished, but he was dancing.
He said he hated dancing. Told me he’d never do it. And now this?
Then I recognized her.
Daisy.
She wasn’t just anyone. Daisy was one of my former students, the one who’d quit months ago, citing “personal reasons.”
And now, she was dancing with my boyfriend—right in my studio.
This wasn’t just betrayal. It was a gut punch.
My anger flared hot and fast. I wasn’t leaving quietly.
I called Jason, a fellow instructor, and asked him to come to the studio—and bring my concert outfit.
Fifteen minutes later, Jason arrived. I slipped into my sparkly outfit, ready to make a statement.
“Are we really doing this?” Jason asked, puzzled but game.
“We’re doing this,” I said, and marched in.
Steven froze, his face pale. The blonde’s smile vanished.
“Clara?” Steven stammered.
I didn’t respond. Instead, Jason and I launched into a passionate, dramatic dance—every move sharp and impossible to ignore.
When the music stopped, I faced Daisy first.
“You’re not welcome here anymore. You’ve stolen enough—my choreography and my boyfriend.”
Then I glared at Steven, who looked unsure whether to apologize or run.
“Dance all you want,” I said coldly. “Just don’t do it with me.”
I spun and left before he could say more.
That night, I changed the locks, packed his things, and left them by the door. It was time for Steven to find a new place to dance.
The next morning, I stepped into the studio, trying to focus on my work.
But there he was—Steven, holding a huge bouquet of roses, dressed in that very shirt and new pants.
My bag slipped from my shoulder.
“What are you doing here?”
He placed the roses on a bench and turned to me. Music started playing softly. He held out his hand.
Frozen, unsure whether to be angry or curious, I took it.
We danced—the same routine I’d taught countless times. His movements were fluid, precise, and confident.
Then, suddenly, he dropped to one knee and pulled out a small velvet box.
“I did this for you. I wanted it to be perfect. I love you, Clara. Will you marry me?”
Tears welled up. I whispered, “Yes.”
The studio door swung open. Friends, family, even Steven’s parents poured in, cheering.
“Surprise!” my best friend Mia called, champagne in hand.
Steven smiled, arm around me. “Everyone was in on it.”
My mom hugged me, tears shining, while Steven’s mom dabbed her eyes.
That night we celebrated together, laughter and love filling the air. Holding Steven’s hand, I knew I’d never been happier.
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