But for twenty years, I chose to love a man who didn’t see me. I chose to serve a family that never said thank you. I chose quiet over conflict, sacrifice over self.
And what did it get me? Nothing.
I stood up.
I pulled out the dress I had planned to wear for the fashion show—the one Kier said was “too loud” for someone like me. I wore it proudly. Fixed my hair the way I liked it. Put on the lipstick he once said made me look “too old to matter.”
And then I left the house. They wouldn’t notice anyway.
I hailed a cab and gave the address to the gallery to finally do the photoshoot.
The assistant greeted me. “We’re ready for you,” she said, leading me into the sunlit studio. “You’ll look beautiful.”
I stepped in front of the camera.
The photographer adjusted the lens. “Are you sure you want these to look like bridal portraits… and you’ll be alone?”
I nodded. “Yes. I don’t have a husband.”
He nodded and then started taking photos. With every shot, I felt lighter. As if I were slowly peeling off the layers of someone else’s expectations.
I remembered Kier’s words from long ago—the ones that once made me stay.