I walk off stage and enter the large dressing room. I have a small part in a large production in New York, and I really like the troupe. But my mother is constantly speaking with the choreographers and directors for me to have more time in the spotlight. She controls every part of my dancing, and although it annoys me, it did get me the opening of the ballet. It shouldn’t make me feel good that I got it because of her, but as long as I’m able to get on stage, I’ll count it as a win.

When I make my way to the small table I sit at to put on my makeup, I’m surprised to see a large vase of flowers. My mother usually has a bouquet for me after every show, but she makes a scene about giving them to me when others are around. Not when I’m alone.

I see my name on the front of the card, and I reach out to take it. But before my fingers can land on it, the entire arrangement is out of my reach.

“I’ll take care of this,” my mother snips and walks out of the dressing room with the flowers. I open my mouth to protest, but the entire troupe enters the room and the place is filled with noise and laughter.

It’s the final show of the season, and while some of the dancers are going on the road with the show, I’ve been pulled.

My mother thinks that I need more training away from home and away from distractions. She said that I would never make the lead unless I took dancing seriously. She said it like dancing hasn’t been my entire focus since the day I could walk.

She’s arranged for me up to have a year-long training camp in Germany. I won’t have access to internet, my cell phone, visitors, nothing. Although it’s not like I have any friends to talk to, but the internet would have been nice. She said I can write letters to her if I want to, but she’d rather I keep my focus on dancing.

She said I’ll have a dancing instructor who keeps me on a strict diet, and I will dance morning, noon and night until I am absolute perfection. She also informed me that she used the money she’d been saving for my college tuition, so this is really my only chance to make it.

I argued with her, but there was no way around it. She said Germany wasn’t refundable, and if I refused to go she’d kick me out. For a few moments I had considered my options. But without a cent to my name and no work experience, my options were limited. I was never allowed to have a part-time job, so I never had my own money. It’s embarrassing to not have anything of your own, but when your life is regimented down to the food you put in your mouth, you sort of get used to it.

When I agreed to Germany, as we both knew I would, I began to dream of a place where I could find myself. Even if it was just a small piece away from my mother’s control. Something was better than nothing. And at the moment that was all I felt.

“Who were they from?” I ask my mother as she enters the room without the flowers in her hands.

“They weren’t for you,” she says while she smiles to the dancers around us, telling them what a great job they did tonight. She’s yet to tell me how well I did.

“I saw my name on the card.” I pull my brows together, certain I had seen my name in block letters on the little envelope.

“You were mistaken, Aurora.” Her glare is cold, and her words are final.

I grab my bag from the drawer and start packing away all my things. This is the last performance, and I have to take all my things with me. I leave for Germany early tomorrow morning. No sense in putting off the inevitable.

“We’re going to miss you,” one of the girls from the front line says as she comes over and gives me a hug. It’s warm and feels genuine, but even now, I can’t recall her name. “It’s a shame you can’t tour with us. Maybe next year when you get back?”

I smile and nod, thinking my mother must have told everyone my plans. A year off is a death sentence for most dancers. This career is for the young and the strong. But taking a year to hone your feet and come back on top is a chance anyone in the company would have taken.

A few of the other dancers wave as I walk out, my mother hot on my heels. She’s anxious to get me out of here. I think she’s scared I’ll ask if it’s okay to write to some of the dancers while I’m away. She doesn’t want any distractions, and isolation is her key to that.

I’m accustomed to being alone, so I don’t see how this will really benefit my training, but I just go along with it. I’m hoping to buy a few books at the airport and sneak them into my carry-on before Germany. I don’t know what’s allowed, but I plan on sneaking in some reading.

“The driver will be waiting for you at six in the morning tomorrow. I have your things already packed,” she says once we are in the car and on the way home.

“You’re not coming with me to the airport?” I ask, surprised she won’t see me off.

“No. It’s far too early. I’ll say my goodbyes to you at home.”

The cold finality of her words shouldn’t sting me, but it does. An entire year without seeing me, yet she doesn’t seem phased at all. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve always been more of an accessory than a child to her, and this is no different.

I stare out the window and watch the streets of New York pass by. The lights of restaurants I’ve never been allowed to enter gleam, and sadness washes over me. The most beautiful city in the world, and I’ve never seen any of it.

I wonder if this is what a caged bird feels like.