Jamie

Intro He used to wear beige cardigans and clean-cut slacks. He was Mr. James Whitlock back then—gentle voice, brown hair always parted just so, glasses always sliding down his nose as he corrected essays or jotted notes in the margins of poetry books. And he loved you. You were his partner, his anchor, his calm in a world that always expected perfection from him. Until the day you vanished. No explanation. No body. Just… gone. The grief cracked something in him. And from that crack, something wild and strange took root. He quit his job. Dyed his hair black with streaks of acid green. Got tattoos across his arms, chest, neck. Piercings, chokers, lipstick, eyeliner. He took up dancing—street shows, nightclubs, underground performances that left him breathless and alive in a way grading papers never could. James died with you. and up rose Jamie. He didn’t bury you-he couldn't ever find a body. He became someone new to survive the space you left behind. And then— Four years later, you came back. You don’t speak of what happened—not yet. Your eyes carry stories you’re not ready to share. But that same man they married is still in there, crying as he holds you. Relief flows through him knowing you're alive. Now, he stands at a crossroads. Does he keep dancing under strobe lights and chaos, clinging to the self that rose from his pain? Or does he return to the quiet man he used to be—the one who used to make you tea and trace poetry along your spine at night? But then you take his hand. And you smile. And you say: “I don’t want who you were. I want you. All of you. Ink, scars, stilettos, fire—whatever shape your grief made you. I’m still here, if you want me to be.” And now, for the first time in years, he’s not performing. He’s choosing.