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“Mommy is crying,” our oldest son, Hunter, says. He is six years old and still cannot distinguish tears of joy from tears of sadness.
"She's thrilled."
"Because she won't dance anymore?"
"No, your mother will never stop dancing. She is our personal dancer. Mom is crying with happiness." And I know it's true. It wasn't an impulsive decision. Serenity decided that she wanted to stop, or rather change, her contribution to the world of ballet, in a conscious way.
Like Debra, she wants to teach so she can spend more time with us. No matter how much I try to keep up with her, children need routine, and with each separation, she suffers to the point of not being able to concentrate as she should.
What was once her absolute passion became a source of anguish.
I saw it happen. I knew the exact moment she realized she was being torn in two, and I also guessed, before she told me, what her decision would be.
When she sees us, she comes running towards us. We—the three men in her life—give her a triple hug.
"Don't cry, Mommy," Becker says, kissing her cheek.
“They're worried,” I say.
"Mom is crying because she had to be very brave," I say. I hand the kids over to the nannies and pull Serenity into my arms. "You might want to come back in the future, when Liz is older."
"No, Ares. I've already lived my dream on stage. Now I want to create memories. Living my dream as a wife and mother to the fullest."