Every Saturday, Steven claimed he was visiting his parents. But new shirts, a jewelry receipt, and vague excuses set off alarm bells. So one weekend, I followed him. What I found shattered me: Steven with a blonde woman, walking into a dance studio. The same man who swore he’d never dance was now waltzing—with her. I slipped inside and watched in disbelief as he awkwardly,
practiced steps I knew by heart.And the woman? Daisy—my former student who disappeared months ago. Furious, I grabbed my co-instructor, stormed in, and stole the floor with a show-stopping routine. Then I called them out in front of everyone. Steven was stunned. I didn’t wait for excuses—I went home and packed his things. But the next morning,
I walked into my studio… and froze. Steven stood there alone, holding roses. Then he danced—perfectly. Every step was from a routine I’d choreographed. At the end, he knelt and held out a ring. “It was all for you,
he said. “I wanted to give you the dance you always dreamed of.” Tears in my eyes, I said yes—just as our friends and family burst in, cheering. It had all been an elaborate surprise, the perfect proposal. And it was.
