Ballet Teacher Mocks New Student, Not Realizing Her Famous Ballerina Mom Is Behind the Door – Story of the Day

Emma's husband signed their daughter up for ballet lessons as she always wanted, but each day, her baby seemed to hate the beloved art form, her body, and the world around her a little more. Thinking this wasn't normal, Emma visited the dance studio only to discover that bullies never grow up.

"Have the best day ever, sweetheart," Emma kissed her daughter Isabella's cheeks many times and beamed with undisguised pride. She looked at her husband, Anthony, with a wondrous bright smile. They had waited for this day for a long time.

Emma had been the best ballet dancer to come from their town in history, and now, her little daughter, who was four years old, was finally starting her lessons.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Anthony asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, mommy! Come!" Isabella bounced on her feet.

"Sweeties, you know I can't," Emma shook her head, giving her husband a scolding look, then faced her daughter again. "You know how people get when they see me. I want you to be treated fairly at that school. Otherwise, you won't learn correctly."

Isabella nodded her head thoughtfully. For a little child, she was single-minded about ballet. She had stolen Emma's shoes and dress since she could walk and had danced around the house. At first, Emma was worried.

Ballet wasn't for everyone. It was one of the toughest art forms in the world, and the people… well, the truth is that you had to develop a deep skin to face this competitive field full of deception, lies, sabotage, and jealousy.

There were good sides. If you managed to make friends, they were forever. Finding the right mentor was also brilliant because everyone needs tough but fair to make it to the pros. But it was still an arduous journey where you must sacrifice a lot.

But Isabella seemed enamored with the idea of being a ballerina herself, and Emma wouldn't deny her the opportunity. She had a talent too. Secretly, she hoped her daughter would grow out of it. But there was another side that wanted Isabella to be even more successful than her. The joy and pride of that would be even more impressive than when she was named prima ballerina.

"Off you go, now!" Emma clapped and waved her husband and daughter goodbye as he strapped her into the car seat and drove away to school. She closed the door to their house and jumped a little in place, hating that she had to wait to hear how Isabella's lesson went.

***

Anthony brought their daughter home only two hours later, and the little girl ran to her room, closing the door tightly.

"What's going on?" Emma asked her husband, concerned.

"I have no idea," he shook his head, confused. "When I left, she was smiling and jumping, ready to dance. But when I picked her up, she was all sullen and withdrawn."

Emma crossed her arms and thought about it. "Maybe she realized ballet is much more difficult than just dancing the house."

"It's possible, but I'm still confused," Anthony said, shaking his head slightly. "Maybe we should wait a few years. Enroll her in something else, like gymnastics at school."

"She's wanted this for a while," Emma said but bit her lip. "But we'll ask."

At dinner, their daughter was too quiet.

"Isabella, you haven't told me anything about ballet class," Emma said, frowning as she moved her fork around her plate. The little girl was staring at her food intently.

"I have to diet," Isabella said, surprising them.

"What?" Anthony choked on his food for a second. "No, you're a little kid, and you're healthy. No."

"My teacher said I'm too fat," the little girl continued.

"Excuse me?" Anthony asked, but Emma raised her hand to stop him.

"Isabella," she touched her daughter's arm. "Did your teacher say that? Was it the other girls?"

The little girl shrugged. "I don't know."

"This is unacceptable," Anthony said quietly.

"I know," Emma sighed. The problem is that this was ballet; she had heard those words too many times before. However, it was hard to remember how old she was the first time. Asking a four-year-old to diet was a little extreme. "Isa, look, your body will develop nicely now that you're active. You don't need to diet, and you are NOT fat."

"Really?" Isabella's eyes lit up.

"Really," Emma and Anthony said in unison. The little girl smiled and finally started to eat her chicken nuggets.

Emma looked at her husband and breathed out. Crisis averted.

***

Isabella was back to her cheerful self and went to her following ballet lessons excitedly. The issue is that something was always off when she returned home afterward. One day, the girl asked if she was ugly. The other day, she wondered if her feet were right.

Emma reassured her and worked on her foot placement until she was happy again. Another day, she returned with a torn stocking and said others had laughed at her. That made Anthony's blood boil, but Emma calmed them both down.

"It's just a stocking. We can buy a million more. I'll put a couple extra ones in your bag so you can change if it happens again," Emma shrugged, and Isabella nodded, appeased.

However, the more lessons she had, the harder it got for Emma to calm the situation down and make her smile again. Some days, Isabella said nothing.

"How was ballet?" she asked her daughter.

"OK," she shrugged.

"What did you learn today?"

"Just some things," Isabella said and commented on a few movements they were doing.

Emma would usually change the subject to try to cheer her up in other ways. It worked sometimes, but sometimes, her daughter went to her room, dejected.

Anthony was getting angrier and angrier, while Emma was just frustrated. "Hon, this is ballet," she told him.

"Little girls destroy the souls of other little girls?" he demanded.

"Hmmm, hate to break it to you, but yeah," Emma sighed. "Although that has nothing to do with ballet. That happens anywhere."

"GOD!" he bellowed. "Emma, you're not taking this seriously. I want Isabella off ballet immediately!"

"I want that too, but…" she shook her head. "Let me take her to a lesson. I think it's time I check things out. I know this world. I can appeal to these people."

"Fine, but if things don't get better quickly–"

"We'll take her out," Emma finished his sentence, agreeing solemnly.

***

"Oh my word!" a woman's eyes blazed as soon as Emma walked in with Isabella in tow. "It's you!"

Emma smiled the same awkward grin she gave to everyone who recognized her. It didn't happen that often anymore, and not many people were such big fans of ballet, but she expected from the people in this studio.

"Hello," she greeted amicably while the woman gushed.

"I'm Mrs. Clemmens," the woman introduced herself. "This my studio. It's nice to meet you! I'm your biggest fan! Is this your daughter? I didn't know she was enrolled with us."

"Nice to meet you, as well, Mrs. Clemmens," Emma said kindly. "Thank you so much. Yes, this is Isabella, and my husband was bringing her out because I was a little busy. But I wanted to see this place and meet everyone."

"Excellent!" Mrs. Clemmens clapped her hands.

Emma leaned to speak to her daughter. "Isabella, go to your practice room. I'll watch from outside, alright?" she started and lowered her voice for a second. "Don't tell anyone else I'm here, OK?"

Isabella nodded and rushed away. Mrs. Clemmens held her attention for a few minutes. She even requested a selfie, and Emma was happy to oblige.

"Thank you so much! My friends won't believe this," the older woman said. "If you need anything else, I'll be in my office."

"Of course. Thank you," Emma nodded and walked to the practice room her daughter had disappeared into. Two tiny glass panels were on the door where she could peek into the class. All the girls in their ballet attire were dancing. They were all mostly Isabella's age and were doing a great job.

She saw her daughter spin, and she was frowning deep in concentration. Emma smiled, reminded of her days. But the music abruptly stopped.

"Isabella! Are you stupid? How many times do I have to tell you how to spin correctly?" the teacher suddenly exclaimed, and Emma's entire frame froze as she saw her daughter's shoulder sag in defeat. She knew for a fact the little girl was doing a good job, so the teacher's comments didn't make sense.

Emma's eyes zeroed in on the woman, who was not done mocking her daughter.

"See, ladies," the teacher added, laughing. "This is why fat girls don't make it in ballet! Do you want to be a loser like Isabella? Well, keep eating like she does." The hatred coming from her voice was something else… something sinister… insidious. Wrong.

But it wasn't unfamiliar. The tone of it pricked at Emma's memories, so she focused on the wrinkled, displeased face of the teacher. And everything clicked. She wasn't just any teacher. Emma knew her.

"Katherina," she breathed, unfreezing her body as her anger took over.

Katherina didn't just get nasty as an adult. She was always like that, and Emma had known her since they were around Isabella's age. They were enrolled in the same dance classes for many years, and she was always a bully.

Ballet was tough enough in terms of competition, but it was a million times worse due to Katherina. Fortunately, Emma was a million times more talented, and everyone in her old dance studio and her mentors had their hopes set on her.

Although she tried, Katherina couldn't touch Emma because of that, but she made the lives of others miserable. No one was more jealous than Katherina when Emma was scouted into the prestigious ballet company everyone wanted to join.

But she forgot all about this bully afterward. She hadn't heard her name in the circuit over the years, so her career didn't go anywhere. But now, her abuse was directed at small little girls.

Emma continued watching for a few more minutes. Isabella wasn't the only source of Katherina's wrath and mocking, but her daughter got it pretty bad.

Does she know Isa is my daughter? Emma wondered. Would she stop if she knew, or would it make worse?

Ultimately, she couldn't take it. But Isabella was hard at work and didn't want to interrupt the class to make a scene. Instead, Emma went in search of Mrs. Clemmens.

***

"Oh, I can't believe that," the older woman shook her head after Emma told her precisely what she had seen.

"Do you think I'm lying?"

"No, of course not," Mrs. Clemmens shook her head, smiling condescendingly. "But parents are so protective of their kids."

"Mrs. Clemmens," Emma leaned closer to her desk. "I've seen the worst of ballet. I did my time. I competed and prevailed over all sabotage, jealousy, and hate thrown my way. But what I saw done there…was so much worse. Because it didn't come from the other jealous little girls, it comes from their teacher, who should inspire them, not destroy their souls."

"Emma, please," the old woman sighed.

"I want her fired, and if you don't, I'll remove my daughter from your dance studio," Emma said, tilting her head thoughtfully, "for starters."

Mrs. Clemmens bristled. "I don't take kindly to threats."

"Very well," Emma exited the office, smirking at the old woman.

The class was over when she reached the practice room, so she walked right in. She eyed Katherina and had the satisfaction of seeing the recognition in her eyes before the bitter teacher schooled it.

"Hey, baby," Emma knelt while Isabella picked up her things. "Come on, we're not coming back here."

"Why?" her daughter asked, curious.

"Listen," Emma sighed and spoke a little louder. "Some people are so bitter about their lives or how little talent they have or what they never accomplished that they have to take it out on others. It's sad and pathetic, especially when others can't defend themselves."

She sensed more than saw that the other girls had stopped to listen. Several eyes were on her.

"Are you talking about bullies?" Isabella asked.

"Yeah, honey," she nodded. "Some bullies never grow up. They only get worse. And while it's sometimes good to face them, it's often better to walk away with your head held high."

Isabella nodded, and although she was four, Emma knew her daughter understood. So, Emma stood and saw not only the girls but several moms listening as well. Her eyes went to Katherina, and she smirked again, shook her head, and walked out.

Emma opened her new dance studio a few months later, offering more than ballet. She thoroughly vetted the teachers and supervised classes, emphasizing how they could teach with discipline but compassion.

When the local parents heard who owned it, they took their kids out of Mrs. Clemmens' place. She heard she had to shut down a year later, and Emma saw Katherina's CV in her email one day, which went right to the spam folder, of course.

"Mock my child, become unemployable," she sing-sang and continued perusing her emails.

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