The Substitute Wife's Comeback

Chapter 2

Timothy buried his shock fast and slipped into the face of a stranger, meeting her for the first time. He kept his voice cool and distant when he spoke. He said, "Florence, you can begin."

Florence answered with a small nod.

What four years had done to her dancing was unmistakable. The airy lightness of her younger self had vanished, and every movement now flowed into the next with a settled, deliberate power.

When the music stopped, Florence stood there catching her breath. She looked toward the judges' table, and her heartbeat refused to settle.

Janet Morris, one of the judges and the dean of the national dance academy, was the first to press the pass button.

She spoke with the wistfulness of someone reaching back through the years, "Florence, how long has it been since I watched you dance? Four years, maybe five. Anyone can see you've been away from the floor for a while. A few of your movements have gone rusty. But your feeling is exactly what it used to be, and it still cuts straight to the heart."

The second judge followed without a beat of hesitation, "I feel the same. There's nothing left for me to add. All I can do is pass you."

Something twisted in Florence's chest, and a sharp ache climbed up before she could brace against it.

Two green "pass" lights had now lit one after the other. What she needed was a single light more, and anything short of that would drop her into the holding pool.

Florence turned to look at Timothy without thinking.

His face stayed perfectly even when he spoke, "The way I see it, technique is the foundation of everything for a dancer. Your turns and your footwork both slipped tonight."

Florence froze where she stood.

Then the red light beside Timothy's seat, the one that meant "eliminated," snapped on with a hard, bright click.

A moment later, his voice carried clean across the entire studio, "You don't pass with me."

The color drained from Florence's face, and still she pulled a graceful smile onto her lips. She said, "Understood. I'll keep working at it."

She straightened her spine, turned, and walked off the stage.

The first round of taping wrapped long past midnight.

Florence sat in a cramped little room with the other dancers who had been left waiting. She had already let go of any hope of advancing, so what Janet did next caught her completely off guard.

Janet handed her the one extra slot she had to give.

Janet said, "Technique is something you can train. Feeling is not."

The encouragement in Janet's eyes made Florence's own sting with heat.

Florence said, "I won't let you down. And I won't let the dance down either."

Tears rose and shimmered along her lashes.

Timothy watched it all in silence from the edge of the room, detached, like a man who had wandered into a story that wasn't his.

The moment the recording wrapped, he left without a backward glance.

Florence found herself trailing after him on pure instinct.

She rounded the corner of the corridor, and her steps stopped dead.

There, right in front of her, stood Timothy beside the woman from that old photograph.

The woman was glowing with laughter, her arm looped through his with the ease of long familiarity.

She said, "Timothy, let me take you to dinner to celebrate. I advanced on a unanimous vote."

He said, "The honor's mine. I already booked us a table. Come on, my star dancer."

Florence caught only the side of his face, yet what reached her, clear and undeniable, was the smile he wore.

'So that's how it is,' she thought. 'He was never cold by nature, never a man hung up on boundaries. He simply kept his distance from anyone who wasn't the one he loved.'

In front of someone he wanted, he could let every guard fall away.

Florence stood frozen until the two of them vanished from view, and then she let out a soundless little laugh.

Maybe her leaving would prove a mercy for them both. What it gave Timothy was the freedom to chase his first love without a shred of hesitation, while she, for her part, could finally begin her life over.

Back home, she washed up and slipped into bed, but sleep refused to come.

She lay awake until Timothy returned.

Their eyes met, and the tangle of feelings in her chest made it impossible to bring up the competition again, so she steered them somewhere safer.

She said, "You're off work tomorrow. Spend some real time with Nancy."

When she said nothing about the show, the warmth drained from Timothy's eyes in an instant.

He said, "Understood."

His reply was flat, and he disappeared into the bathroom.

The night passed without another word between them.

The next morning, Florence woke to find Timothy down on the carpet with Nancy in his arms, the two of them busy with her toys.

He said, "Nancy, what if we save that amusement park trip I promised you for your birthday? This time I swear I won't let you down."

He coaxed her in a low, gentle voice, with a patience the world almost never got to see from him.

Then, in the very next breath, Nancy let the words tumble out. "That won't work. Mommy said she's taking me away in three months, so I won't even make it to my birthday."