As I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead, I felt butterflies in my stomach flutter at the thought
of performing my dance in front of hundreds of people. Somewhere inside, I knew that he was going
to be here today. The previous dance's performers pranced off while I reminded myself to move one
foot in front of the other as I approached the stage. In the audience, I spotted my parents' eyes
gleaming with pride. I was ready to dance. And then, I saw him. The music began playing its soft
melodious tune and my body moved through the routines I had practiced every day for the last three
months. As I graciously completed each step, my thoughts began to wander. 'Why is he here?'
As I moved my eyes to find him once again, I stumbled forward in my step. The audience remained
silent as I tried to regain my strength and follow the harmony of the music once again. Still, my
mind was elsewhere. As soon as the music stopped I rushed to the dressing room and changed my
clothes. The dance did not matter any longer. The hard work, effort, and time I had put into
practicing slipped from my mind as I rushed to see him. Finally, I reached the corner of the room
where he was standing and whispered, 'What are you doing here?' Then, in a rush of words, he
spoke to me for the first time in one year. 'I am sorry that I abused you. These cuts on your
hands and legs have pierced through my soul and into my heart, where I deeply regret hurting you,'
he softly whispered as he lightly brushed my scars with his rough hands. He then bent forward and
kissed me on my cheek as I felt his warm tears fall, framing the contours of his face. Although I
stood speechless, my mind was overflowing with the anger and pain I felt towards him for physically
abusing me almost every day for months in the past year. Just as I dug up as much courage as I could
find to turn around and leave, he began slowly removing his sweater, revealing large, gaping cuts on
his own arms. A shrill feeling ran down my spine as he explained, 'I wanted to feel the pain that
you felt.' It was then that I realized that our story was not over. I had tried my best to forget
about all of the instability he had caused in my life by pushing my feelings away. I had never
gained closure from the chapter in my life that he had stolen by making me part of his mistakes. To
finally move on from the pain he had caused, I would have to forgive him and help us both start
anew. Suddenly, I found myself in the back room of the dance studio, searching every closet for a
first aid kit. I prayed hat his wounds would heal as I pulled out bandage after bandage and lay
them over his bleeding cuts. For the time being, I was even able to let go of the memories that
clouded my mind memories of our disagreements, arguments, and fights. When I finally felt
satisfied for covering all of his bleeding spots, I reflected on his ability to shatter all of the
strength I had built over the past year without him. I soon began drifting off into my own
thoughts, contemplating the future how I would help him rebuild his own life after alcoholism. Our
lives would be complete through each other's presence. I snapped out of my thoughts just moments
later by a sharp noise. It was my alarm, waking me up from my fifteen-minute nap. Seconds later,
my mother appeared at the door, telling me to get ready for the dance performance I had in just an
hour. As I rolled out bed, I heaved a sigh of relief at the thought that my nightmare had not been
real. I reached for my car keys as my eyes landed on the sheet of paper that was sitting on my
desk. It was a letter to him that I had not yet begun writing. I sat in my chair, picked up the
pen and wrote, 'I forgive you.' I put on my costume and drove myself to the dance studio. When
my turn came, I stared out into the audience only to find those who valued the person I had become
instead of focusing on the past that haunted me. As I wiped off the beads of sweat from my
forehead, I felt the butterflies in my stomach fly away and I stepped onto the stage with confidence
and danced my past away.