Our Anniversary Was on the Brink — One Phone Call Turned It Around

Tonight, she wore a simple but graceful green silk dress — the one I had surprised her with. She had tried to refuse it at first, saying it was “too expensive,” but she looked beautiful in it, even if a little unsure of herself in this shiny, polished place filled with wealthy people showing off their status. She looked like a natural flower growing in a room full of artificial plants — too real for the environment around her. I wore what I always wore: a crisp white shirt, dark pants, no tie. I hated ties; they felt like a rope around the neck, a symbol of a world I belonged to only on paper.

The manager, a man named Marcus with slick, shiny hair and a thin mustache, had been looking at us with visible contempt since the moment we stepped out of the private elevator. He was the type of person who judged someone’s value based on the logo on their watch. Mine was a simple Seiko. My shoes were plain and comfortable. He immediately assumed we were nobody important — maybe two people celebrating something out of their budget, trying too hard in a place meant for people “above” us. His disdain clung to him like a strong, unpleasant perfume.

We were exactly on time. 7:30 PM.

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