Six months after the divorce, I moved south. Winters were short there, with plenty of sun. A good place for a new start.
I went back to the dance company I'd left years before and started over with the most basic training. My injuries kept me from some of the hardest movements. Once, I cried over it in an empty studio. When the tears were done, I gripped the barre and stood back up.
What was lost would never come back. But the ones who survive have to keep moving forward.
On the day of our spring performance, I spotted Adrian in the last row. He was quieter than before, and thinner. He didn't send flowers, didn't come backstage, didn't try to talk to me. After the show, he left a letter with a staff member and walked away.
It was only a few lines. Sophie had died while the case was sti
