Greg raised the microphone.
“Happy anniversary,” he said.
Then he smiled.
“Maybe now you’ll finally do something about yourself.”
The silence that followed was more honest than laughter had ever been.
This wasn’t a careless remark that had slipped out.
It wasn’t an awkward joke.
It was a performance.
Greg had arranged the party.
He had invited the people who mattered to us.
He had waited until everyone had their phones out.
And he expected them to laugh.
I looked at the scale.
Then I looked at Sophie.
She was staring at it without blinking.
Something inside me became completely still.
I thought about every meal I had hurried through.
Every mirror I had avoided.
Every photograph I had deleted.
Every apology I had made simply for taking up space.
I had spent months preparing myself for the possibility that Greg would eventually go too far.
In that moment, I stopped hoping I would never have to act.
I turned around and walked into the lobby.
I pulled out my phone and made one brief call to the coat-check attendant.
Claire had left a box under my name before the party.
Ten minutes later, I returned carrying a large white box tied with a red ribbon.
I placed it in Greg’s hands.
“And this is my gift to you.”
The phones rose again.
Greg untied the ribbon with theatrical care.
Then he opened the box.
His face emptied.
Inside lay a folded red dress and an old photograph.
He picked up the dress.
“This old thing?” he asked.
Then he looked at me.
“Trying to remind us what you looked like before children?”
Claire stood from a table near the back.
“Actually, Greg, I altered it.”
Greg looked at her.
“The seams were fragile, and the waist needed work.”
He lifted the dress higher.
“You squeezed her into this?”
Claire shook her head.
“No.”
“I tailored it for Sophie.”
Greg slowly lowered the dress.
