Something inside me shifted.

I smiled.

Not the polite smile I had practiced my entire life. Something smaller. Sharper.

“Excuse me,” I said quietly.

I pushed my chair back, stood, and walked toward the bathroom. The fabric of my dress squelched with every step. In the mirror, my reflection looked like someone I almost pitied. Damp. Streaked mascara. Mouth pressed into a thin line.

“You do not belong here,” I whispered to myself.

The truth of it did not hurt. It felt clarifying.

When I stepped back into the hallway, the party had already moved on. Tyler was retelling the story with exaggerated gestures. “She did not even get mad. She just stood up.”

I walked past them toward the door.

My gift bag still sat on the sideboard, untouched. I stared at it for a moment. At the neat tissue paper. At the card that read, To Mom, with love.

I left it there.

“Heading out?” Mike called.

“Yes. Long day tomorrow.”

“Night, Mom,” I said.

“Mm hmm,” she replied without looking.

I stepped into the night air and closed the door on their laughter.