And she would remind me that forty years of marriage deserved something special.
She would ask why I couldn’t do this one thing for our parents.
So I swallowed my frustration.
“It’s okay, Daniel. Go ahead.”
A week before the party, Camille called again.
“I finished the seating arrangement!”
I was relieved.
One less thing to handle.
“I put myself and Hannah beside Mom and Dad at the main table,” she explained. “Right by the fireplace. The photographs will look incredible.”
I waited.
“Where did you put me?”
There was a short silence.
“Oh, you’ll move around.”
“Move around?”
“Yes! You know, make sure everyone has what they need. Check with the staff. Keep everything organized. You’re so good at that.”
I stared at my phone.
I’d paid for an elegant celebration.
I’d organized almost every detail.
And apparently, there wasn’t even a chair reserved for me.
“Mom agrees,” Camille added. “I already talked to her.”
Later that evening, Mom sent me a message.
*Camille explained the seating plan. It sounds perfect! You’re such a wonderful helper.*
I read it several times.
A helper.
At the event I was paying for.
I felt something tighten in my chest.
But I said nothing.
Then Camille started posting photographs online.
She had around two thousand Instagram followers and enjoyed presenting her life as polished and successful.
Four days before the party, she posted a picture of herself standing beside the fireplace in the Hearthstone Room.
Her caption described how excited she was to organize a beautiful celebration for the parents who had taught her everything about love.
She wrote about the importance of family.
About forty years of marriage.
About planning something unforgettable.
