The spring showcase was only three days away. Lily had spent months rehearsing her solo, dancing in our garage until her feet blistered and bruises colored her knees. Vanessa ran Hartline Dance Studio in Columbus, Ohio, and for years she had treated that studio like a royal court where she sat on the throne.
Ten minutes later, Lily came back out holding her costume bag against her chest, her face drained of color.
“Mom,” she whispered, “Aunt Vanessa said I’m not dancing.”
I rose so quickly my chair scraped across the lobby floor.
Vanessa stepped out behind her with folded arms, wearing the tight smile she always used when parents questioned tuition.
“I made a professional decision,” she said.
“A professional decision?” I repeated. “The showcase is Saturday.”
