Summer adjusted the sequins on her top one last time in the mirror. The lights of the dressing room flickered slightly.At 34, she is moved with the confidence of a woman who knew how to command a stage.
The thumping bass from the club outside vibrated through the thin walls. It was a familiar rhythm, part of her pulse now. She'd been dancing at "Velvet Mirage" for over a two decades, earning enough to keep the lights on, put food on the table, and raise her children. They was the only reason she'd ever stepped onto that stage in the first place.
Just as she began pinning up her long, red hair, her phone buzzed. A text from her beloved boy, Jake (22).
"Hey Mom. Can we talk tonight? It's important. Please."
Summer stared at the message for a moment. Lately, Jake had been acting different. He wasn't the shy, scrappy teen anymore. He was confident, clean-cut, and always in a rush.
A few months ago, he'd started some kind of tech thing with his friends. At first she thought it was just another startup pipe dream, but then came the checks. Real money. Big money.
She took a deep breath and replied:
"After my set. 11?" She Asked.
"I'll be outside." He responded
When she stepped out into the cool night air after her performance, Summer spotted him leaning against a sleek black car. Not his, she thought. But then again, who knew anymore?
"Hey," she said, walking up to him. She still had her stage makeup on, lashes long and glittery, but wrapped in a thick robe and carrying her heels in one hand.
"Hey, Ma." Jake looked nervous, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets.
"Everything okay?"
He nodded, hesitated, then shook his head. "Not really."
Summer raised an eyebrow. "Talk to me."
Jake motioned to the car. "Let's sit. Please?"
They got in. The interior smelled like leather and new beginnings.
"I've been thinking," he said. "You've done so much for me. Sacrificed everything."
Summer chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Mothers do that."
"No, Mom, I mean it. You gave up your life--your dreams. You danced and fucked for years so We could eat, go to school, wear shoes without holes. You built me up. Now I want to build something for you."
She softened a little but kept her guard up. "Jake..."
"I made a lot of money with that app. We sold it for seven figures. I want to take care of you now. You don't need to keep working at the club. I can give you whatever you need."
Summer felt her throat tighten. "It's not that simple."
"Why not?" Jake's voice cracked a little. "You hated that job, right?"
"I didn't do it because I loved it. But I was good at it. And I had to be strong for you."
"You don't have to be anymore," he said quietly. "Let me be strong for you now."
She looked away, out the window, watching the neon signs flicker across the parking lot. Part of her felt relieved, another part ashamed, and yet another deeply afraid. If she stopped dancing, who was she now? She'd built a persona, an armor, an entire identity around being Summer on stage.
"What would I even do?" she whispered. "What does a woman like me become when she stops being what she's been for so long?"
Jake didn't answer right away. "You become... free."
The word hit her harder than expected.
"I bought a house," he continued. "Two bedrooms. In Venice. One's ours; sis can take the other. No more tiny apartments, no more late shifts. Just peace. You can paint like you used to. Or start a boutique. Or travel. Or do nothing if that's what you want."
Summer swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "Jake, you're still my kid. I'm supposed to take care of you."
