I’ve been married to James for almost two decades. We are both artists, drawn together by our mutual love of creativity and adventure. Before James, I had a whirlwind romance with another artist named Luke. Our relationship was intense and filled with fiery passion, the kind that leads to unforgettable moments.

One summer night, Luke and I filmed ourselves dancing in a secluded forest clearing, our movements free and wild, illuminated by the flickering glow of a bonfire. The video captured more than just a dance; it was a raw, unfiltered expression of our love and our youth.

Years later, that video resurfaced when Luke shared it on social media, reminiscing about the past. I was embarrassed, but I didn’t think much of it—after all, it was a part of my life long before I met James. However, when James saw the video, his reaction surprised me. Instead of laughing it off or appreciating the artistry, he was visibly upset.

James tried to hide his feelings, but over time, the video became a source of insecurity for him. He often wondered why I had never shared something so intimate with him, why I seemed to remember my time with Luke so fondly. I assured him that the dance was just a moment from my past, something I no longer thought about.

But the seed of doubt had been planted. Every so often, when I would mention my love for dancing or recall a memory from my youth, James would tense up, a shadow crossing his face. It hurt me to see him like this, knowing that something so innocent was now causing a rift between us.

I wish I could erase that part of my past, not because I regret it, but because I hate seeing the pain it causes the man I love. But no matter how many times I tell James that he’s the one I want to dance with now, the memory of that flame, once kindled in another time and place, still flickers in his mind.