I Went Out for a Dance and Almost Got a Divorce I Didn’t Sign Up For

Sometimes the red flag glows in the dark

I just wanted to dance.

That was the intention. That’s what I told everyone at brunch. That’s what I told myself in the shower. That’s what I told the mirror while putting on eyeliner with a hand that was already slightly shaky from the second mimosa.

Just dancing. No expectations. No men. No heartbreak.

Just me, my friends, a bar with dim lights, and a DJ who respected the art of building the mood slowly.

(Which, by the way, is a rare and precious thing. Like a man who reads novels and uses mouthwash.)

So I wore the short dress. The one that says I’m not trying too hard but could absolutely ruin your life if I felt like it. Lipstick slightly smudged, perfume borderline illegal. We ordered tequila shots, screamed-laughed over them, and I danced like I was shaking off three months of existential dread. Because I was.

Then he appeared.

Of course he did.

Tall. Sharp. A little unshaven. Smelled like sex and citrus.

He asked me what I was drinking and I told him, “Bad decisions.”

He laughed. I internally gave myself a high-five.

We talked. We danced. He said something about Camus and polyamory and I blacked out a little from excitement.

Honestly, it was going suspiciously well.

So when we stepped outside to smoke, the city air wrapping around us like some cinematic cliché, I started calculating.

Would I regret it tomorrow?

Would I regret not doing it tomorrow?

Did I even care about regret anymore?

Would I steal his hoodie if I left in the morning?

Could I sneak out and leave a note written on a napkin like a mysterious woman who doesn’t even own a phone?

I was leaning toward yes. I was ready to be reckless.

The kind of reckless you earn after being too sensible for too long.

And then his phone lit up.

And there it was.

One word, glowing like a divine punch in the face:

Wife.

(That’s it. That’s the story. I went home and ate hummus in my kitchen like a sad Greek tragedy.)

I guess I’ll dance again next Friday.

No expectations, obviously.

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With lipstick and delusions,

Sofie 💋