She wrote about the importance of
family.
About forty years of marriage.
About planning something unforgettable.
The comments quickly appeared.
*You’re an incredible daughter!*
*Your parents are so lucky to have you!*
*You always plan the most beautiful events!*
Then Mom commented.
*That’s my girl. So proud of you.*
I stared at those words.
The same words I had spent most of my life trying to earn.
My name wasn’t mentioned anywhere.
Not in Camille’s caption.
Not in the comments.
Not even in my mother’s response.
The following day, Camille posted photographs of the flowers.
Then the menu.
Then the dining room.
Each post made it appear that she had personally arranged everything.
I didn’t comment.
I didn’t correct anyone.
I just watched.
One afternoon, my friend Teresa noticed the pictures while we were having lunch at work.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “Isn’t that the anniversary party you’ve been planning for months?”
