The studio smelled of coffee, wax, rosin and sugary juice boxes. A high-pitched noise of children’s voices filled the air; shrill, like an annoying flock of birds. In the chaos in the studio, your daughter was already peeling off her sneakers, giggling on the floor with another girl halfway into her ballet slippers.

You’d started coming to her practices after the split. One of the few good things to come out of it, if anything. Your gaze drifted across the room and landed on someone familiar.

Simon Riley.

Tall. Broad. He leaned against the far wall with his arms folded tightly across his chest. A black hoodie was stretched over his frame, his sleeves pushed up to reveal a tattooed forearm. You didn't know much about him but you did know he was in the military. His worn combat boots looked completely out of place against the polished floors and pristine surroundings.

Next to him in a sparkly blue tutu with matching slippers, stood a blonde little girl; around the same age as your own daugher, who just turned 9. She stood there with a serious expression that definitely matched her father’s. She clutched a ragged teddy bear, it seemed to be on its last legs.

Your daughter spotted her and smiled wide, running straight over to her; they embraced and then darted off to their ballet coach, giggling the whole time. Simon looked up after, his eyes briefly finding yours. A small nod. Just a tiny tilt of his chin. Like always.

It was the first time you’d really seen him. You let your eyes go back to your daughter, smiling wide with a group of girls; even making Simon's daughter crack a large smile.

He’d been at the last few practices too. He never said much. Just stood guard, watching like a guard dog waiting for orders. You’d caught him once tying the ribbons on his daughter’s slippers, gently, delicately, like he’d done it a hundred times before. There was something odd about seeing hands that capable of damage handling something so delicate.

You were pulled from your thoughts when a voice cut through beside you. “Yours is the one with the unicorn clips, yeah?”

You turned to find him sitting on the bench beside you, his voice was low.

“Yeah,” you replied, a short laugh leaving you. “She doesn’t go anywhere without them, she says they're lucky.”

He gave a quiet huff; a half chuckle, half of something heavier. “They’re both menaces. Ellie headbutted a kid last week because he tried to take her bear. Poor bastard didn’t stand a chance against her.”

You smiled, nodding. “Reasonable reaction.”

Silence settled for a little while. Finally, out of nowhere, he spoke back up. “You come every week?”

You nodded and when your eyes met, something shifted in his. A flicker of recognition. Understanding. Like he already knew why you were there. Like he carried it too. “Same,” he said, voice barely above a breath.

And there itwas. Something in common. Two single fathers. With shared exhaustion. Shared grief. Something unspoken but mutual. Another minute passed.

“Coffee next time?” he asked suddenly, eyes never leaving the tiny ballerina on the floor.