The Night I Wasn’t Invited To

I got home late.

The house was quiet.

Mom had already gone to bed.

The staff had left.

Only the soft hum of the hallway light greeted me.

I walked to my room, unbuttoned my blouse, let it fall to the floor.

My hands moved on instinct — undoing my skirt, stepping out of my heels — but my mind wasn’t there.

It was in the future.

At a restaurant.

Dim lighting.

Soft jazz.

A table for two — or so I thought.

“Just the two of us,” Serena had said. “To celebrate you, sister.”

I believed her.

I wore a simple navy dress — modest, elegant, understated.

I didn’t want to outshine her.

I wanted to belong.

But when I walked in, the truth hit me like a slap.

The table wasn’t for two.

It was for sixteen

All senior staff.

All women who wore confidence like armor.

All dressed in couture, their hair perfect, their laughter sharp.

No new hires.

No one like me.

And when they saw me — in my simple dress, my natural hair, my unlined face — the silence was worse than laughter.

One raised an eyebrow.

Another g