Her Night Dance

They stripped me of my lead role just before the tour.

In a panic, I rushed to demand an explanation, but my mind was in such turmoil that I tumbled down the stairs. Gritting my teeth against the searing pain, I fumbled for my phone to dial 911. That’s when a notification lit up the screen—an update from someone I followed.

**[Crimson Plains Dance Troupe: A warm welcome to our new lead dancer @Dorothy, and our generous patron @Keith!]**

The attached photo showed two beaming faces: my husband of seven years—a secret marriage—and his pampered little songbird. Keith had an arm around Dorothy’s waist, planting a light kiss on her cheek. She, in turn, had her arms looped around his neck, her face a picture of bashful delight.

Wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth, I didn’t hesitate. I posted a photo of our marriage certificate in the comments.

**[Is your troupe's new production called 'The League of Bastards'?]**

Keith’s call came through almost immediately.

“Anna, what the hell are you doing? How many times do I have to say it? Dorothy and I are just putting on a show for publicity.”

I sniffled, my voice thick. “Keith, by what right did you have them take my lead role?”

A beat of silence. “You’re at Crimson Plains?”

Another pause, then a tone of utter indifference. “Dorothy wanted the lead spot for the tour as a birthday present. I didn’t realize that role was yours.” His voice hardened. “Go online right now and clear this up. Say the certificate was photoshopped.”

A sudden, hysterical laugh threatened to bubble up inside me. He didn’t even know where I worked, yet he remembered Dorothy’s birthday wish list.

“And then what? Why would I photoshop a marriage certificate?”

“You could say you’re just a fan,” he replied flatly.

“Keith, what do you take me for?”

A low sigh traveled through the line. “Anna, we’ve been married seven years. We’re practically an old married couple by now. Dorothy’s young. There’s no need to get into a fight with her.”

He seemed to have forgotten. I’d married him before I even finished university. Though it’s been seven years, I’m only a year older than Dorothy.

“Keith, I fell down the stairs. My leg… it really hurts.”

“Anna, it’s just an apology and a clarification. It’s not that hard.” He sounded… disappointed. “When did you become such a liar?”

*Plop. Plop.*

Tears as big as raindrops, mixed with the blood still trickling from my nose, splattered onto the back of my hand. I clamped a hand over my mouth and ended the call.

He called again. I just switched my phone to silent.

I called 911 myself. When the paramedics arrived, they asked if I had any family with me.

“No,” I answered numbly, staring at the ceiling. “They’re all gone.”

Halfway to the hospital, a text from Keith came through.

“Anna, Dorothy is so upset she fainted. Get your ass to the hospital right