You know that feeling when you're waiting for the other shoe to drop? On my 35th birthday, it wasn't a shoe. It was the whole wardrobe.
It started with champagne. Mark, my fiancé, poured us glasses before breakfast. "To the most successful woman I know," he said. "Today will be life changing, Elara."
I should've known. Mark's compliments always sounded rehearsed. But I was too busy dreaming of my promotion and the Bali trip I thought he'd booked.
The first crack appeared at 10:17 AM. A meeting request from my boss, Linda. For 4:30 PM. On my birthday.
The promotion, I thought. She's making it official after hours.
Hope is a stupid, resilient weed.
I walked into Linda's office. Her smile was tight. "Happy birthday!" she chirped, not meeting my eyes.
Then came the corporate jargon. "Market shifts." "Streamlining." "Difficult decisions." etc.
The phrase that gutted me: "we've eliminated your position."
Eliminated. Like I was a typo. Not a person who'd given five years.
I numbly packed my desk. My hands shook as I called Mark. No answer.
I texted: Can you talk? Something happened.
His instant reply: In a meeting. Can't. Talk tonight. My surprise will cheer you up! x
His surprise. That weed of hope sprouted again. Maybe a new job offer!
I went to our favorite restaurant, Il Ponte, early. I needed wine.
The hostess smiled. "For Mr. Henderson's party? Right this way."
Party? He'd planned a party? My heart skipped.
She led me to a semi-private room. Laughter echoed. I fixed a smile and rounded the corner.
And I saw it.
The banner: "Congratulations on the Partnership & the Baby!"
There he was. My Mark. His arm around a woman from his firm,the same one he called "just a colleague." Her hand rested on a very big pregnant bump. She kissed his cheek.
The room erupted. "SURPRISE!"
But the only surprised one was me. The promotion was his. The baby was theirs.
My perfect life was a lie.
I don't remember walking out. I remember the cold rain. The sound of my own cry. I remember stumbling into the street, blinding headlights, the screech of tires.
The impact was so painful.
Then… nothing.
I woke up.
To the smell of coffee. To birds chirping. To my alarm blaring Happy Birthday to You.
I jerked upright, gasping.
Sunlight entered through my windows. Everything was normal. My silk dress still hung on the closet door. No cardboard box.
This wasn't right.
I grabbed my phone. The screen glowed:
Happy Birthday, Elara!
The date below it wasn't tomorrow.
It was July 18th.
Exactly one year ago.
Panic seized me. A nightmare.
I stumbled to the mirror. I looked younger. Less tired.
And clutched in my right hand was a crumpled piece of paper I'd never seen before.
I unfolded it with shaking hands.
Scrawled in my own handwriting were four words:
"Trust Leo this time."