Custody Suit

"Again."

Melissa's voice was clipped, devoid of sympathy, as she leaned on her cane, watching Zara with an unyielding stare.

Zara swallowed hard, sweat dripping down her temples, rolling down the curve of her neck as she fought to maintain her balance. 

She had been repeating the same développé à la seconde for hours, lifting her leg with precision, extending, holding, lowering, only to be commanded to do it again.

Her thighs burned, her calves ached, her left foot wobbled, the strain in her Achilles tendon screaming louder than the classical music playing in the background. 

"Melissa, I—"

"Again."

A lump formed in Zara's throat. She clenched her teeth, lifting her leg once more. Her body screamed in protest, her vision blurring at the edges, but she forced herself to push through. She had danced through pain before. She had endured sleepless nights and bruised toes, but this—this was breaking her.