She stood in the kitchen doorway, sunlight catching the edge of the invitation in her hands.
Her smile was soft, hopeful—like she was already imagining herself there, among old friends, laughing like she used to.
And I ruined it with five careless words:
“Do you really want to go? I mean… it might be awkward. You’re just a stay-at-home mom now. You might feel out of place.”
I didn’t mean to wound her.
But I did.
