When You Realize You’re No Longer a Person
That night the house buzzed with party prep.
Caterers moved through the kitchen.
Florists arranged dramatic white lilies in the living room.
I wasn’t allowed to sit in there anymore.
I might “clutter the aesthetic.”
Dinner was a ham sandwich on a paper plate.
Alone in my room, while the smell of truffle oil and roasting beef drifted under the door.
I stared at the photos on my nightstand.
- Mason at seven, gap-toothed and smiling
- Mason at graduation
- Mason at his wedding, where Jacqueline called my dress “quaint” in the way that meant “embarrassing”
This is what my life had become.
Quiet. Apologetic. Waiting to be stored away.
