He paused, then gave me that small, tired smile he's worn for years—the one that carried every ache he never said out loud.
"Maybe it was. But pain isn't a contest, Junie. There's no trophy for suffering more. Just people trying to walk through fire without losing themselves. You're allowed to burn. Just don't disappear."
And that—God—that was the moment I cracked open. I folded into him, a soft sob shaking through my ribs as he held me the way he used to after nightmares. Only this time, the monster was real. And it had a name.
He held me until the storm inside me quieted, and then he leaned back and said, "Aaron left something. A message. He called me, and when I didn't pick up, he sent a text. Long one. It's on my phone, if you want it."
He placed the phone on the nightstand. No pressure. No push. Just there.
Then he left the room.
It took me a while to reach for it. But eventually, my curiosity overcame the dread. I braced myself and read.
June.
I wish I had the right words. I don't. But I can't let today pass without saying something.You were supposed to wear white today. You were supposed to be walking toward me. And I was supposed to be the man worthy of that.
But I wasn't. I wasn't even close.
I don't know when I started chasing the past, but I know it blinded me. I thought I owed something to that younger version of me, the boy who never got closure. I was wrong. What I owed was to you. To us.
And I burned it all down trying to feel something that never truly existed.
You were the home I stopped noticing because I was staring out windows looking for something else. But there was nothing more. Nothing better. Just a fantasy. A ghost.
You brought life into my world, June. You made the studio breathe, you made me believe in things. And I let fear turn me into someone I hate.
I know sorry isn't enough. I don't deserve forgiveness. I don't even expect a reply. I just wanted you to know that I see it now. I see you. And I will carry the weight of losing you for the rest of my life.
I'll never stop regretting it. I'll never stop loving you. I will do everything and anything to make up for my errors. I love you June, just believe that.
Always Yours, Aaron.
I read it again. Then again. Until the screen blurred and my breath hiccupped in my chest. My hand gripped the phone like it could hold me back from falling apart. But it couldn't.
So I mourned. I mourned what today was supposed to be. The vows I never said. The first dance we never had. The laughter, the cake, the impossible dream. I let it all go, one silent sob at a time.
The next morning, I got up.
I didn't want to. But I did. Because part of grieving is surviving. And part of surviving is choosing to step forward, even if the air still hurts your lungs. I showered. Dressed in something soft. Comfortable. And I drove.
The studio sat just where it always had, between the flower shop and the bakery. The smell of sweet dough and lilies hit me as I parked. For a second, I hesitated at the door. Then I pushed it open. The light inside was golden and warm, spilling across scuffed wood floors and worn barres. Studio B was still standing like a memory that never left.
"June!" Elena called out, stepping from the back in her signature all-black ensemble and elegant bun. She looked at me like I was twelve again. "Oh, look at you. You've grown into your mother's legs."
I smiled softly. "I missed this place."
"Well," she said, squeezing my hands, "this place missed you. Are you back?"
"I don't know," I said truthfully.
She tilted her head. "I need a teacher. Just for a while. Until your heart steadies again. You'd be perfect."
I laughed. "You sure? I might cry during pliés."
"Then cry and keep going. That's what dance is for."
She left to grab her planner, and I wandered into the open studio. The walls were lined with mirrored memories. Thecorners still held the echoes of my mother's laugh. I touched the barre with my fingertips and closed my eyes.
