The night was meant to be a celebration, the kind of evening you mark on the calendar weeks ahead, imagining every detail with care and expectation. I had saved for months, setting aside extra hours at work and skipping small indulgences, all to make sure that when the night arrived, it would feel special. I rehearsed what I would say, practicing phrases in the mirror and even rehearsing the toast I wanted to make, making sure my words sounded heartfelt without feeling forced. The restaurant I chose promised an air of quiet sophistication—soft lighting that blurred the edges of reality,...
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