Xavier had always gone all out for my birthdays. He used to say the Moon Goddess must have chosen that day herself, blessing his life by bringing me into it. Two years ago, he had transformed the garden into a sea of glowing lanterns, tiny lights floating in the dark like fireflies. That night, he gave me a moonstone necklace, telling me the stone reflected the quiet strength he saw in me. Last year, he organized a grand celebration that stretched until dawn, filled with music, laughter, and his arm wrapped around my shoulders the entire time.
So when I saw colorful banners being unpacked, boxes labeled “decorations,” and caught the warm, sweet scent of honey cake drifting from the kitchen, a small spark ignited in my chest.
Maybe he was trying to fix things.
Maybe he hadn’t completely forgotten the woman he left standing alone at the altar.
But when the final decoration plans arrived that afternoon, that fragile hope shattered before it even had a chance to grow.