Samuel pulled into the parking lot of the Enchanted Steps Dance Studio, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the brick building. At 42, he was a dedicated project manager at a bustling tech firm, his days filled with spreadsheets, meetings, and the quiet satisfaction of closing deals. But his real pride was his 18-year-old daughter, Hannah-a prodigy on the dance floor, or so everyone said. He adjusted his tie in the rearview mirror, then headed inside, the faint echo of piano music and rhythmic thuds greeting him.

The studio's lobby was a whirlwind of tutus and leotards, parents chatting while kids stretched on the floor. Samuel found a spot near the viewing window, watching Hannah glide through her advanced ballet class. Her movements were flawless-extensions sharp, turns precise-but he noticed the spark was missing from her eyes. When class ended, she trudged out, her pink dance bag slung over her shoulder, sweat-dampened hair escaping her bun.

"Hey, kiddo," Samuel said, pulling her into a hug. "You looked amazing out there. That pirouette? Chef's kiss."

Hannah forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks, Dad. Can we talk? Somewhere quiet?"

They found a secluded bench in the outer lobby, away from the post-class chatter. Hannah fidgeted with the strap of her bag. "Dad, I... I want to quit dance. It used to be fun, but now it feels more like a job. Rehearsals every day, sore feet, pressure to be perfect. I'm over it."