My Father Declared In The Hearing, Saying, “At Last, Your Shop And Your Car Belong To Your Younger Brother.” My Mother Smiled And Nodded Along. I Remained Silent Until The Judge Looked UP AND SAID…

People talked about the studio. They liked the atmosphere—calm, welcoming, no pressure to be perfect. I never pushed anyone into advanced poses.

I adjusted sequences for injuries, offered modifications without comment. Students started bringing friends. A local wellness blog featured me in a small article.

Hidden gem in town, it said. Bookings kept coming. Then the phone call started.

My mother called one evening while I was locking up. “Studios getting busy, huh?” she said, her tone light but curious. “I heard from Mrs.

Larson at the grocery store. She said she went to one of your classes. Said it was packed.”

I paused.

Key in the door. Yeah, it’s going well. She paused, too.

That’s good. Really good. The conversation ended quickly, but something felt different.

She had never asked about the studio before. A few days later, Dylan showed up unannounced. He walked in during a slow afternoon class wearing jeans and a hoodie, hands in pockets.

“Hey, Alex,” he said after the students left. “Place looks different. Nice job.”

He looked around, nodding like he was appraising real estate.

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