The morning of my sister Stephanie’s baby shower, I stood before my closet like a general surveying a battlefield, knowing I was about to walk into an ambush.
My apartment, a spacious downtown loft with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Chicago skyline, usually served as my sanctuary. It was the physical manifestation of my success—a bare industrial space I had transformed into a sophisticated haven featured in Architectural Digest. Every texture, every hue, and every piece of furniture represented a choice I had made for myself. Cassie Anderson Interiors wasn’t just a business; it was my identity. While my friends spent their twenties and early thirties navigating diaper changes and mortgage rates in the suburbs, I had been building an empire from the ground up.
But today, my confidence felt as fragile as the antique glass vase on my mantle.
I finally settled on a blush midi dress—fashionable enough to signal my professional status, but demure enough to avoid accusations of trying to upstage the mother-to-be. God forbid I outshine Stephanie on her coronation day.
My phone buzzed on the marble island. A text from Mom: Don’t forget the gift. Stephanie is registered at four stores. Please be on time.
I glanced at the meticulously wrapped package on the counter. Inside was a high-end, ergonomic baby carrier that cost more than my first car payment. It was practical, stylish, and scientifically approved—everything Stephanie usually claimed to value. Yet, as I grabbed my keys, a heavy knot of dread tightened in my stomach. In the eyes of the Anderson family, nothing I did ever quite measured up.
Stephanie was two years younger, yet she had successfully positioned herself as the family’s golden child. She was a pediatrician, married to a surgeon named David, lived in a colonial house with a white picket fence, and now, right on schedule, was producing the first grandchild. My parents never explicitly stated that they preferred her life choices, but the silence that followed my descriptions of work projects, contrasted with the rapturous applause for Stephanie’s domestic milestones, spoke volumes.
“Six hours,” I whispered to my reflection in the hallway mirror. “You just need to survive six hours.”
The drive to Rosewood Gardens took forty minutes, time I spent rehearsing my defenses against the inevitable interrogation. I’m focusing on my business. The right person hasn’t come along. I am actually quite happy, thank you.
When I arrived, the venue looked like a Pinterest board had exploded. White roses and baby’s breath adorned every surface, and a banner reading Welcome Baby James hung across the entrance in calligraphy so perfect it looked machine-made. Trust Stephanie to curate a life that looked flawless from the outside.
I plastered on a smile and stepped inside. Immediately, I spotted my mother directing the catering staff with the precision of a drill sergeant. She rushed over, her eyes bypassing my face to inspect the gift in my hands.
“Cassandra, you’re fifteen minutes late. Everyone is already here.” She reached up and smoothed a stray hair from my temple, a childhood habit that made me want to scream. “Stephanie was asking about you.”
“Traffic,” I lied, omitting the fact that I had circled the block three times to steel my nerves.
“The place looks beautiful, doesn’t it?” Mom beamed, gesturing to the room. “Stephanie planned everything herself, even with her busy schedule at the hospital. Such an organized girl.”
The implication hung in the air: Unlike you.
I nodded and waded into the crowd. I recognized aunts, cousins, Stephanie’s medical school friends, and old neighbors. Aunt Margaret intercepted me before I could reach the mimosa station.
“Cassandra, darling!” She enveloped me in a cloud of cloying floral perfume. “You look wonderful. Any special man in your life yet?”
And so it began.
“Not at the moment, Aunt Margaret. My business is keeping me incredibly busy.”
“Oh.” Her smile faltered, replaced by a pitying pout. “Well, don’t wait too long. The good ones get snapped up fast after thirty.”
I extricated myself and finally reached Stephanie. She sat on a plush velvet chair that had been decorated with blue and white streamers to resemble a throne. She looked undeniably radiant in a pale blue maternity dress, her hand resting protectively over her seven-month bump.
“You made it,” Stephanie said, accepting my obligatory hug. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
“And miss my only sister’s baby shower? Never.” I handed her the gift.
“Thanks. Just put it on the table with the others.” She barely glanced at it. “Mom told me your business is doing well. That must keep you… busy.”
She said the word busy as if it were a diagnosis.
“It is. I just finished a project for a tech CEO featured in Forbes.” I couldn’t help the note of pride in my voice.
“That’s nice,” she said, her attention already drifting. “It must be fulfilling to decorate other people’s family homes.”
The barb landed with precision. Before I could respond, her friend Lisa whisked her away, leaving me standing alone in the center of the room.
The next hour was a blur of humiliation disguised as party games. Guess the Baby Food was harmless enough, but Share Your Favorite Motherhood Memory left me standing in awkward silence while the other women cooed over first steps and mispronunciations. I busied myself helping Mom refill punch cups, playing the role of the dutiful, invisible sister.
Then came the toasts.
Lisa, the maid of honor and designated best friend, wept through a speech about Stephanie’s dedication. Then Mom spoke, her voice thick with emotion, praising Stephanie’s maternal instincts. The room turned to me. As the sister, I was next.
I hadn’t prepared a speech. I cleared my throat and raised my glass of tepid champagne.
“To my little sister,” I said, forcing a smile. “You’ve always known exactly what you wanted and gone after it with determination. I know you’ll bring that same dedication to motherhood. To Stephanie and Baby James.”
Short. Sincere. Safe.
Or so I thought.
Stephanie took the microphone. “Thanks, Sis.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You know, it’s funny. Growing up, everyone always thought Cassie would be the first to get married and have kids because she’s older. But here I am, beating her to the finish line.”
A ripple of awkward laughter spread through the room. My grip tightened on the champagne flute.
“I guess some of us just had different priorities,” she continued, patting her belly. “Though, if you wait much longer, Cass, we might need to look into some fertility treatments for you. At least one of us managed to find a husband before her eggs dried up.”
The silence that followed was absolute. It wasn’t a lull; it was a vacuum. Someone near the back gasped audibly. I stood frozen, the blood draining from my face. My sister had just publicly weaponized my single status and my biology as a punchline at her own celebration.
Mom jumped in, her voice shrill. “Well! Everyone has their own path. Who wants cake?”
But the damage was done. I felt the eyes of thirty women on me—some sympathetic, some amused, all viewing me as the pitiable spinster who couldn’t secure a mate. My carefully constructed confidence crumbled into dust.
I set my glass down with trembling fingers. “I need some air,” I muttered, turning on my heel. I walked toward the garden doors, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, terrified that if I blinked, the tears stinging my eyes would fall before I made it outside.
The spring air outside was cool against my burning skin. I found a stone bench partially hidden by a weeping cherry tree and sank onto it, finally letting the dam break.
These weren’t just tears of sadness; they were tears of fury. I was thirty-four years old. I owned a successful company. I was independent. And yet, in this environment, I was reduced to a cautionary tale. I hated Stephanie in that moment. I hated her cruelty, but I hated my own vulnerability even more.
I wept into my hands, smearing expensive mascara across my cheeks, mourning the relationship I wished we had.
“Are you okay?”
The small voice startled me. I jerked my head up to find a little girl standing a few feet away. She couldn’t have been more than seven, with a riot of copper-colored curls and serious brown eyes. She wore a yellow dress and a cardigan with butterflies embroidered on the pockets.
“I’m fine, sweetie,” I lied automatically, reaching for a tissue in my purse to dab at my ruined makeup. “Just… allergies.”
“You don’t look fine. You look sad.” She tilted her head, observing me with disarming intensity. “My dad says it’s okay to be sad sometimes, but it helps to talk about it.”
I looked at this strange child, her innocence a stark contrast to the venom I had just escaped. “Your dad sounds very smart.”
“He is. He’s a doctor.” She took a step closer. “I’m Emma.”
“I’m Cassie.”
“Emma! Where did you go?” A deep male voice called out from the path.
A moment later, a man rounded the corner. He was tall, with dark hair that looked like he ran his fingers through it often—a frantic, charming sort of disarray. He wore a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and when he spotted the girl, his shoulders slumped in relief.
“Emma, you can’t wander off like that,” he said, hurrying over.
“I didn’t wander. I was exploring,” she corrected him firmly. “And I found a lady who is sad.”
The man’s eyes shifted to me, and I turned my face away, acutely aware of my raccoon eyes.
“I am so sorry if my daughter bothered you,” he said, his voice warm and laced with genuine concern. “Emma has a habit of making friends wherever she goes.”
“She wasn’t bothering me,” I said, keeping my face partially averted. “She just caught me in a moment.”
He hesitated, then stepped into my line of sight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pristine, white cotton handkerchief.
“Here,” he offered gently. “It might help. I promise it’s clean.”
I looked at the handkerchief, then at him. He had kind eyes—eyes that seemed to hold a shadow of their own.
“Who still carries a handkerchief?” I asked, a weak laugh escaping me as I accepted it.
“Old souls and prepared fathers,” he smiled. “I’m Nathan Wilson.”
“Cassandra Anderson.” I wiped my eyes, heedless of the black streaks transferring to the white cloth. “But everyone calls me Cassie.”
“Cassie… You’re Stephanie’s sister,” he said, recognition dawning.
My stomach tightened. “She’s mentioned me?”
“Briefly.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “She mentioned you’re an interior designer. I actually just moved to the area and bought a house that desperately needs help. Daddy says it has good bones but bad skin,” Emma piped up.
That surprised a genuine laugh out of me. “That is… actually a brilliant way to describe a fixer-upper.”
“Why were you crying?” Emma asked again, unable to let it go.
“Emma,” Nathan admonished. “That’s personal.”
“It’s okay,” I said, looking at the little girl. “Sometimes grown-ups say things that hurt each other’s feelings. Even sisters.”
Emma nodded solemnly. “Like when Lily at school said my drawings were stupid because I made the sun purple.”
“Exactly like that,” I agreed. “Was your sun purple because that’s how you wanted it?”
“No, it was purple because the yellow crayon was missing,” she said pragmatically. “But I still liked it.”
“Smart girl,” I smiled. “We have to work with what we have.”
Nathan watched our exchange with a look I couldn’t quite decipher—something between gratitude and curiosity.
“We should probably head inside and offer our congratulations,” he said, though he looked as reluctant as I felt. “I work with Stephanie at Chicago Children’s Hospital. I’m the new pediatrician in her practice.”
“Ah. That explains why you’re here.” I stood up, smoothing my dress. “Have you been in Chicago long?”
“Just three months. We moved from Boston after…” He glanced at Emma, who was now inspecting a beetle on a rosebush. “After we needed a fresh start.”
The heavy pause told me there was a tragedy behind those words, one far greater than my current humiliation.
“Daddy, look! A monarch butterfly!” Emma shouted.
“Beautiful, Em,” he called back, then turned to me. “Would you like to come inside with us? I could use an ally. I barely know anyone here, and honestly, baby showers aren’t my natural habitat.”
Under normal circumstances, I would have fled to my car. But the thought of walking back in there alone was terrifying. Walking in with this handsome stranger and his charming daughter? that felt like a shield.
“I’d like that,” I said. “Though I should probably fix my face first.”
“If it helps,” Nathan said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I think you look perfectly fine. Resilient.”
Emma skipped back to us and grabbed my hand without hesitation. “Are you coming to have cake? Daddy says there’s definitely cake.”
“There is definitely cake,” I confirmed, squeezing her small hand. “And yes, I’ll sit with you.”
“Good,” she beamed. “Daddy doesn’t know how to talk at parties. He gets awkward.”
Nathan groaned. “Betrayed by my own flesh and blood.”
I laughed, feeling lighter than I had all day. “Let’s go get some cake.”
As we walked toward the garden doors, Nathan leaned in slightly. “Whatever happened in there… just remember that people who try to make others feel small are usually trying to feel bigger themselves.”
I looked at him, surprised by the insight. We stepped through the doors, leaving the sanctuary of the garden, and walked straight back into the lion’s den.
The room was a cacophony of chatter when we re-entered. Stephanie was holding court in the center of the room, recounting a story with animated gestures. Her eyes flickered to the door, and her sentence died in her throat.
She watched, stunned, as I walked in holding Emma’s hand, with Nathan flanking my other side like a bodyguard. The shift in her expression from confusion to calculation was instantaneous.
“Nathan!” she called out, her voice pitching up an octave. “You made it! And you found my sister?”
“We met in the garden,” Nathan explained as we approached the circle. “Emma was making friends, as usual.”
“Cassie was sad, but we fixed it,” Emma announced to the room.
Stephanie’s smile tightened into a rictus of annoyance. “Oh? Was she just getting some fresh air?” She turned to me, her eyes daring me to make a scene.
“It was a bit warm in here,” I said smoothly, refusing to take the bait. “Nathan and Emma were kind enough to keep me company.”
“Well, you’re just in time for the cake cutting,” Stephanie said, pivoting her attention entirely to Nathan. She placed a hand on his arm—a lingering, familiar touch that made me bristle. “I saved seats for you at the main table.”
She gestured to two empty chairs next to David. There was no seat for me.
“Actually,” Nathan said, not moving toward the designated spots. “I promised Cassie she could sit with us. Emma has already adopted her.”
“I like her,” Emma stated flatly. “She listens.”
Stephanie’s jaw worked silently for a moment. She was trapped by her own social etiquette. “Well, I’m sure we can squeeze in another chair.”
As we settled in, I noticed the whispers. My sister had always been the sun around which our family orbited. To have the handsome new widower’s attention diverted to the “spinster sister” was a plot twist no one had anticipated.
The cake was a masterpiece of blue fondant—a cradle with a sugar baby inside.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“Isn’t it?” Stephanie preened. “The bakery has a six-month waiting list, but when I mentioned I was a doctor, they made an exception.”
I caught Nathan’s eye. He gave me a subtle, amused look, a shared acknowledgment of the unnecessary boast.
As plates were distributed, Emma chattered happily about butterflies and her new school. Nathan tried to rein her in, but I found her honesty refreshing. Stephanie, however, grew increasingly agitated as the attention remained on our end of the table.
Then, disaster struck.
Emma reached for her punch, her elbow clipped the edge of the cup, and a stream of bright red liquid launched across the table, splashing directly onto Stephanie’s pale blue maternity dress.
The room gasped.
“Oh my God!” Stephanie shrieked, jumping up as the red stain bloomed across her stomach like a gunshot wound.
“I’m sorry!” Emma cried, her hands flying to her mouth in horror.
“This is designer!” Stephanie snapped, her face contorted in anger. “Do you have any idea how much this cost?”
Emma shrank back, tears filling her eyes. Nathan stood up, looking mortified. “Stephanie, I am so sorry, I’ll pay for the cleaning—”
“Cleaning won’t fix this!”
I didn’t think. I acted.
I grabbed a handful of cloth napkins and a glass of seltzer water from the table. “Stephanie, stop rubbing it, you’re grinding it into the fibers,” I commanded, my voice cutting through the panic. “Go change. Do you have a spare outfit?”
“In my bag,” she sputtered.
“Go. Now.” I turned to the catering staff. “I need club soda and a clean towel, immediately.”
Stephanie stormed off. I turned to a trembling Emma. “It’s okay, sweetie. Accidents happen. Watch this.”
I worked with the efficiency of a woman who had saved white silk sofas from red wine disasters for a decade. I soaked the tablecloth stain, blotted, didn’t rub. I calmed the mother, I directed the staff. By the time Stephanie returned in a floral maxi dress, the crisis was managed, the table was clean, and Emma was giggling as I told her a story about a client’s puppy and a Persian rug.
Nathan was watching me, and this time, the look in his eyes was unmistakable admiration.
“You handled that… impressively,” he murmured.
“Occupational hazard,” I shrugged.
The rest of the party passed in a blur. When it was time to leave, Nathan lingered by the door.
“Emma and I have to head out,” he said. “School tomorrow.”
“It was lovely meeting you both,” I said. “Thank you for the rescue.”
“I meant what I said about the house,” he said, shifting his weight. “Would it be okay if I called you? Professionally? I mean… or otherwise?”
My heart did a traitorous little flip. “I—”
“Nathan!” Stephanie materialized beside us, effectively physically blocking me from him. “Are you leaving? Let me walk you out. I need to ask you about that patient in room 304.”
She steered him away, casting a triumphant glance over her shoulder. I was left standing by the trash can with a handful of crumpled wrapping paper.
I sighed and turned to throw the paper away, only to bump into Emma one last time.
“Daddy likes you,” she whispered conspiratorially.
I smiled sadly. “You think so?”
“I know so,” she nodded. “He wrote your name on his hand so he wouldn’t forget it. He only does that with important things.”
She skipped away before I could process that information.
I turned back to the kitchen to help Mom pack up, my mind racing. But as I entered, I found Stephanie waiting for me. The guests were gone. David was loading the car. It was just us.
“What exactly was that?” Stephanie hissed.
I placed a stack of dirty plates in the sink. “What was what?”
“You know exactly what. Nathan Wilson. He is my colleague, Cassie. He’s grieving his wife. He doesn’t need you flirting with him at a baby shower.”
“I wasn’t flirting,” I said, my voice steady. “His daughter found me crying in the garden after you humiliated me. They were checking if I was okay.”
“It was a joke, Cassie! God, you are so sensitive.”
“A joke?” I spun around. “You mocked my life choices in front of our entire family. You suggested I needed fertility treatments. How is that funny?”
“Everyone laughed!”
“They laughed because they were uncomfortable!” I shouted, the dam finally breaking. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be constantly treated like a failure just because I didn’t follow your timeline?”
“Oh, please. You act like you’re above it all with your fancy career and your loft. But we all know the truth.” Stephanie crossed her arms. “You’re alone. You’re thirty-four and you’re alone.”
“I am not alone! I have a business, I have friends, I have a life I built!”
“You have an empty apartment,” she countered cruelly. “You pushed Brian away because you were too selfish to compromise. He wanted a family, and you chose… wallpaper.”
“Brian gave me an ultimatum!” I screamed. “He didn’t want a partner; he wanted a housewife! He wanted me to quit my firm and move to Ohio for his job. He wanted me to be you, Stephanie! And I would rather be single for the rest of my life than be a version of myself that I hate!”
The kitchen went silent.
“Girls!” Mom stood in the doorway, looking horrified. “People can hear you from the driveway!”
Stephanie immediately crumbled. Her hand went to her belly, her eyes filling with tears. “Cassie is screaming at me… at my baby shower… the stress isn’t good for the baby…”
Mom rushed to her side. “Cassandra! Look what you’ve done. Your sister is pregnant!”
“She started it!” I felt like a child, but the injustice was suffocating.
“Enough!” Mom snapped, glaring at me. “I don’t care who started it. You are upsetting her. Why can’t you just be happy for her? Why does everything have to be about you and your ‘independence’?”
I looked at them—a united front of judgment.
“You know what?” I grabbed my purse. “You’re right. I don’t belong here.”
“Cassie, wait,” Mom started, but the concern in her voice was for the scene, not for me.
“Congratulations on the baby, Stephanie,” I said, my voice trembling. “I hope he grows up in a world where he’s valued for who he is, not just for what boxes he checks.”
I walked out. I walked past David, who looked away, and marched straight into the cool night air.
I made it to my car, my hands shaking so badly I dropped my keys.
“Cassie?”
I froze. Nathan was leaning against his SUV a few spots away. Emma was strapped in the back seat, asleep.
“I thought you left,” I wiped my face, humiliated that he had seen me crumble twice in one day.
“Emma forgot her sweater.” He held up the butterfly cardigan. “And… I was hoping to catch you. You look like you just went twelve rounds.”
“Family drama,” I said, trying to unlock my car. “I’m leaving.”
“We were going to stop for ice cream,” Nathan said softly. “Emma’s reward for surviving the party. Scoops is just down the road. Care to join us?”
“I’m really not company right now, Nathan.”
“I think you’re exactly the company I want.” He opened his car door. “Follow me? Please. I promise not to talk about babies or interior design. Just ice cream.”
I looked at his kind face, then at my lonely car. “Okay.”
Ten minutes later, we sat in a booth at Scoops. Emma was still asleep in the car, visible through the window. It was just us.
“So,” he said, digging into his mint chip. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“My sister thinks my life is a consolation prize,” I admitted, stirring my spoon into the melting chocolate. “And my parents agree.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think I’m happy,” I said, and realized it was true. “I love what I do. I love my freedom. But… it’s hard when the people you love don’t respect it.”
“I get that,” Nathan said. “My wife, Caroline… we had the plan. Two kids, house in the suburbs. Then she got sick. Ovarian cancer.”
I stopped stirring. “I’m so sorry.”
“Life doesn’t care about your plans, Cassie,” he said, meeting my eyes. “It throws curveballs. The only thing that matters is being authentic in the moment. You seem pretty authentic to me.”
He reached across the table and touched my hand. His skin was warm.
“And for the record,” he smiled, “I think your sister is jealous.”
“Jealous? She has everything.”
“She has the script,” Nathan corrected. “You have the adventure.”
As we sat there, under the fluorescent lights of an ice cream parlor, I felt the heavy armor I had worn all day finally slip away.
Nathan called two days later.
What started as a consultation for his living room turned into dinner. Dinner turned into late-night phone calls. I helped him paint Emma’s room a vibrant shade of lavender, and he helped me realize that letting someone in didn’t mean losing myself.
We built a relationship the way I built homes: foundation first. We bonded over bad movies and shared grief. Emma became my little shadow, and we planted a butterfly garden in their backyard, filling it with milkweed for the monarchs.
Three months after the shower, Stephanie gave birth to baby James.
I sent flowers but didn’t visit immediately. I was protecting my peace. But Nathan, ever the peacemaker, nudged me. “Family is complicated,” he said. “But they’re still family.”
I went to her house alone. Stephanie looked exhausted, hair unwashed, holding a crying infant.
“Cassie,” she blinked, surprised to see me.
“Hi, Steph.”
She invited me in. We sat in the living room I knew she had decorated to impress, though now it was covered in burp cloths.
“He’s beautiful,” I said, looking at my nephew.
“He screams for four hours a night,” she whispered, tears leaking from her eyes. “I thought I’d be good at this. I’m a pediatrician.”
“No one is ready for the reality,” I said gently. “Here, let me take him.”
I took the baby. He settled instantly in my arms. Stephanie watched, and for the first time, I saw her guard drop.
“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. “About the shower. I was cruel.”
“You were,” I agreed. I wasn’t going to brush it aside.
“I was jealous,” she admitted, looking at her hands. “You have this exciting life. You answer to no one. Sometimes… sometimes I feel like I’m just checking boxes on a list someone else wrote.”
It was the most honest thing she had ever said to me.
“We both have good lives, Steph,” I said. “Just different blueprints.”
We didn’t fix everything that day, but we poured the concrete for a bridge.
Six months passed. The leaves turned, and snow fell. I spent Christmas with Nathan and Emma. My parents, seeing how happy I was—not because I had a man, but because I was loved—finally began to back off.
One spring evening, Nathan and I were weeding the butterfly garden. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the yard.
“Have you thought about moving in?” Nathan asked casually, pulling a dandelion.
“Are you asking me to move in?”
“I’m asking if you’ve thought about it.” He paused. “Emma asks every day.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think I don’t want to live in a house that doesn’t have you in it.”
I stopped working. “Is that a proposal?”
“No,” he stood up, wiping the dirt from his knees. “This is.”
He reached into his pocket—not for a handkerchief this time, but for a small velvet box. Emma burst out the back door, unable to contain her excitement any longer.
“Did you ask her yet, Daddy?”
Nathan laughed, dropping to one knee. “I’m trying, kiddo.” He opened the box to reveal a vintage emerald ring—unique, bold, and totally me.
“Cassie, I love you. Emma loves you. We don’t want you to fill a void; we want you to build a new wing on the house with us. Will you marry us?”
I looked at the man who had seen me at my lowest and offered me a handkerchief. I looked at the little girl who had found me in the garden.
“Yes,” I choked out. “Yes to both of you.”
One year after the baby shower from hell, I stood in Stephanie’s backyard again.
This time, it was for James’s first birthday. The atmosphere was different. Lighter. Nathan was manning the grill with David, laughing over a beer. Emma was chasing a toddling James across the grass.
Mom walked over to me, holding Stephanie’s new baby, Rose—a surprise second pregnancy.
“Here,” Mom said, handing me the baby. “She’s fussy. You have the magic touch.”
I took my niece, rocking her gently.
“You look happy, Cassandra,” Mom said, watching Nathan.
“I am, Mom.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For pressuring you. For making you feel like your timeline was wrong. Watching you this year… I see now that you knew what you were doing all along.”
It was the validation I had craved for a decade, but strangely, I found I didn’t need it anymore. I had validated myself.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Stephanie joined us, handing me a lemonade. “So,” she pointed to my emerald ring. “September?”
“September,” I confirmed. “Small ceremony. Emma is the flower girl. She wants to release butterflies instead of throwing rice.”
“Of course she does,” Stephanie smiled genuinely. “You know… if you hadn’t stormed out of my party, you never would have met them.”
“Are you taking credit for my engagement?” I laughed.
“Maybe a little.” She bumped my shoulder. “Everything happens for a reason, right?”
I looked across the yard. Nathan looked up, caught my eye, and winked. Emma waved frantically, holding a jar with a caterpillar inside.
My path hadn’t been straight. It hadn’t been efficient. It certainly hadn’t been the one my family expected. But as I stood there, surrounded by love that was chosen, earned, and real, I knew one thing for sure.
The yellow crayon might have been missing, but the purple sun I drew was a masterpiece.
