Page 7 of Pretend it’s Forever

“So you’re keeping the name Cage?” one of the other moms asked, and for the life of me, I could not think of her name. Her daughter Molly was adorable but didn’t want to be in class. She would rather be on the ice rink, full pads, and trying to be a left wing in hockey like her brother. But Molly’s mother wanted nothing to do with that. I knew of someone who still played for the NHL, as well as another person that played for the PWHL, so I already had a plan concocted to bring them in to talk with a few of my classes and the parents. It might be a little sneaky, but I didn’t want to squash anybody’s dreams.

I had been lucky enough to live mine for as long as I had.

“You mean Cage on the business? Of course. You do know the Cages. We tend to put our name on everything.”

“So you’re sticking with the name Cage as your last name. That’s what I meant,” the woman answered. Eliza. Elizabeth? What the hell was her name?

“Excuse me?” I asked, blinking, a little confused.

“You changed your name. And I hear you also changed your little girls’ names. That was pretty quick for the courts, don’t you think?”

I stiffened visibly at that, and I saw the gleam in their eyes. They had wanted my reaction, and they weren’t going to get all of it. Because part of me wanted to lash out, to show them exactly what had been left behind in the ashes of my marriage and my dreams, but then I would end up in jail where Cale wasn’t, and my little girls would be without me.

“I am a Cage. And I always have been. And if that’s all, I need to get ready for my next class.”

As they hadn’t gotten what they wanted, they made a few excuses and walked away, as if they hadn’t just tried to break me.

I would never understand women like that. We lived in a world where it wasn’t easy to breathe as a woman. I had my privileges beyond most, so many of them, but I still had to deal with not being in a seemingly woman led field, and never being enough for anyone.

I didn’t know any of those women’s backstories. For all I knew, they were going through their own hells and lashing out because it was easier than breathing and facing it, but I wasn’t going to be one of them. I didn’t need to push them down just because I was hurting.

I rubbed my leg, grateful I had another half hour before my class.

I made my way to my office and sat down, resting my leg up on the chair next to me.

The sound of relief that escaped me probably should have been embarrassing, but thankfully I was alone for the time being, as my other instructors were off for the day.

It hadn’t always been like this. The dance studio had been a pinnacle of my dreams, something I put my heart and soul into. I had painted most of the walls, with my family helping finish what I couldn’t. Soft colors in some rooms, and bold in others. I didn’t want to wash out the imagination and emotions that came with dance. I wanted to bleed into it in body and soul, and I had put everything into this place.

And Cale had tried to take it away.

I sighed and rubbed my temples.

The divorce hadn’t been easy.

As I had never filed a police report, never thinking I’d need one, the single attack in which Cale had broken my leg, ensuring I would never dance again, and beat me to the point that I still didn’t remember most of the next week, had been his only flaw according to his lawyer. I had enraged him, cheated on him, and he’d snapped. It was a moment of weakness, he had said.

And the male judge, and the male lawyers, and everyone else around them that perpetuated that lie, had given Cale a slap on the wrist.

He had gone to anger management classes but hadn’t been able to contest the divorce fully.

Paperwork had been pushed through, and I was no longer married to that man.

Cale had tried to take some of the Cage money along the way, but my brothers and lawyers were stronger than the attorney.

He had tried to take my business, and I’d nearly given it all to him. He’d taken half of the building, half of my savings, and half of my life—anything in order to keep custody of my baby girls—the twins he didn’t love because they were not boys, and were too needy for him.

But my brothers and sisters had helped there too, using the family name and money to keep Cale away.

The courts had failed us though. Just like they failed so many people.

I had a measly restraining order, as if a piece of paper could keep Cale far from me and my family. I had a divorce, and was able to change my name to Cage, as well as my little girls’ names. But that was it.

Cale was able to visit once a month if he wanted. Could take them for a whole weekend, and he could continue to fight for custody.

He didn’t get jail time. Probation and anger management. That was it. As if nearly killing me—and it had been attempted murder—wasn’t enough to justify time behind bars.

And Cale would continue to fight for custody, not because he wanted the girls, not because he wanted my business, but because he wanted to see me fail.