Emma couldn’t take it anymore—the fake smiles, the rehearsed statements, Shelby’s snide taunts. She slipped away from the ballroom and ducked into the restroom.
Just for you, Mom, she whispered, staring into the mirror.
An elegant woman looked back at her— flawless makeup, carefully styled hair, a designer gown that screamed perfection. But beneath it all, Emma saw her— the little girl curled up inside into a ball, trembling, crying, breaking.
She exhaled shakily and dabbed a handkerchief to her cheeks, gently pressing the makeup back into place.
It's okay, Emma. We can get through it! We have seen worse, haven't we? She told herself.
Just as the stillness began to soothe her fraying nerves, the door slammed open.
Shelby stormed in, stilettos clicking against the tiles. “How dare you
