67- Raeanne

Inside my apartment I sank heavily onto the little couch I’d inherited from my grandmother. The cheery floral pattern was completely at odds with my mood. I leaned back into the dusty embrace of the yellow roses, my spine releasing some of the indignant tension I’d been holding there.

What had Dalton been thinking? Was my studio a complete joke to him? How could he expect me to just pick up the whole thing and drop it down into the center of a Chest R. Cheeses? The place had been a total circus. I could still hear the shrieks of kids screaming over the maniacal music they’d piped in to float above the roar of the arcade machines.

I was a classically trained ballerina. And while I didn’t expect Dalton to understand all the various implications of that and what it meant to me—about me—I did think he had respect for what I did. For the fact that I was running an actual business, and doing it increasingly well.

But maybe I’d been wrong. Both Dalton and my dad had decided I couldn’t contin