The candles at the table wouldn't stay upright.

Relly adjusted them again, hands trembling, trying to center the tiny silver holders so they looked intentional. The room smelled faintly of lemon and rosemary, an artificial freshness piped in through discreet vents along the ceiling. The restaurant was upscale but modest, tucked into the corner of a boutique hotel downtown. Exposed brick walls. Matte black tables. A bar that gleamed like polished obsidian. It wasn't crowded. It wasn't cheap. It was just enough.

She stepped back from the table, eyeing the setup. Four seats. One flower vase. One bottle of wine. She paid for it herself, despite Jordan's offer. And she didn't want anything showy. She just wanted her mother to be pleased.

The hostess smiled too brightly when she walked in with the small cake box clutched tight to her chest, a backup plan she already hated. She was trying. She really was. The reservation was under her name. She confirmed it twice. The manager promised a small, quiet space that was something elegant but modest.

It still didn't feel like enough.

Her phone buzzed again as she was about to step out of the restroom where she went not to pee, but to cry. Just briefly. Just enough to unclog her throat. She locked the stall, sat down on the toilet lid, and tried to breathe. Her lungs didn't cooperate at first. They felt stitched shut. Her head pressed against the stall wall, eyes dry but burning.

She felt it again, the other her, the one who smiled without effort. The one who would walk out now with perfect posture and a bright voice. The one who wasn't fraying like old fabric.

Her phone screen showed Jordan's name. Her boyfriend. The finance-bro golden boy.

She swiped to answer.

"Hey," she said.

"Still a bit busy," Jordan said flatly. His voice was deep, smooth and charming by default. She heard voices behind him, the low din of a bar maybe, or his open-plan office. "I'll leave soon. You said seven, right?"

"Yes. Please don't be late. She'll—"

"Yeah, yeah," he cut in. "She'll crucify you if I'm not kissing her ring by dessert. I get it."

Relly tried to laugh. It came out too quiet. "She's not... she's just..."

"Kind of a cunt," Jordan said easily. "You know that, right?"

There was a silence.

She wanted to defend her mom. But she couldn't. Not fully. And yet, she felt guilty all the same. Not just for the dinner. For forgetting. For remembering too late. For not texting at 6 a.m. on the dot, the sacred hour.

That was her mom's rule. If you're going to remember me, remember me early.

She broke the first rule.

"I'm serious," he continued. "She acts like she's got the world by the throat. Pretends she doesn't adore me because I make more in a week than most people make in a month. But come on, she lives for that shit."

Relly swallowed. "Yeah. I know."

Her eyes flicked to the mirror in the hallway. The reflection stared back. Her makeup was smudged just slightly beneath one eye. She wiped it. Her reflection didn't move immediately. Just stared. As if it was waiting.

"I'll be there," Jordan said. "Try to relax, babe."

They hung up. She slipped the phone into her clutch and returned to the table. Everything seemed in place. The wine glasses shimmered. The cutlery glinted. The birthday card was tucked beneath the plate like an apology letter. She adjusted a single napkin. Again. Again. She didn't remember how many times.

Her mom had rules. Old rules. Unspoken commandments. If you were going to wish her a happy birthday, it had to be before 6 a.m. The earlier the better. To show you were thinking about her the moment you woke up.

Relly failed that test this morning.

The birthday dinner was her way of patching over the failure. The guilt was acidic, bubbling in her stomach. She felt it in her teeth.

She pressed her palms to her cheeks. They were clammy.

The server came by. "Are we ready to order?"

"I'm waiting for my family," she said.

The server nodded. His smile was tight. He walked away.

When her mom arrived, the air changed.

Marjorie Samuels was statuesque. Her perfume announced her first, a blend of jasmine and steel. She wore tailored navy silk like armor and her silver hair pinned in perfect waves. Her eyes landed on Relly, and a brief smile appeared. Not warm. Just assessed.

"You look neat," she said, lips pursed.

Relly smiled her hardest. "Happy birthday, Mom."

Marjorie's eyes flicked around. "Just us?"

"Jordan's on his way. Lawrence said he'd try—"

"Still volunteering at that tiny nonprofit?" she asked, slipping off her coat.

Relly's jaw tensed. "It's a full-time role now."

She looked down at her water glass. Her reflection shimmered inside it.

"Mm," Marjorie said. "So you're still there."

Then she leaned closer, eyebrows pinching. "You forgot to brush your hair?"

"I did," Relly said quickly. "I mean, I did brush it."

Her mother raised a brow. "Interesting choice there."

Relly smiled. A mask. Polite. Airless.

Her body stiffened against the invisible claws scraping at her from the inside.

The restaurant's lighting grew warmer as the sun dipped. She could see her mother's features clearly now—high cheekbones, painted lips and hazel eyes that never missed a flaw.

Then Jordan arrived, all confidence and pressed linen. His blond hair glowed under the amber lighting. He kissed her mom on the cheek and pulled out her chair for her. Her mom beamed. There was real light in her smile now. It stung.

Jordan ordered for them. Steak. Lobster. Chardonnay. He controlled the mood now. Her mom laughed more than she had in months. Relly sat quietly. Her hand hovered above her fork. She wasn't sure when she started shaking.

"You said earlier you were craving lobster," Jordan said suddenly.

Relly blinked. "I didn't."

Her mother and Jordan both turned toward her.

"You literally just said it ten minutes ago," Jordan said, puzzled.

"No," Relly said too quickly. "You must've misheard. I want the chicken."

Jordan tilted his head, still puzzled. Her mom's eyes narrowed. "Always so inarticulate. You were never good at making up your mind as a kid."

Relly smiled tighly. But her pulse spiked. Her stomach rolled.

There was a crack in the wall beside her. Just above the light fixture. She stared at it.

Only it wasn't there. Not really. It vanished when she blinked.

Someone dropped something in the kitchen. The clang from the distance rattled her nerves. She excused herself.

In the restroom, she leaned over the sink. Her breath came in bursts. The light flickered. Her reflection smiled. She didn't.

You're embarrassing yourself, a voice whispered. But it wasn't in her ear. It was inside.

The bathroom tile started to swirl. Like water. Like it was rippling.

She gripped the sink until her knuckles paled. Her vision swam. Her chest squeezed like a vice.

She pressed a fist to her mouth. Tears stung at her eyes, but she swallowed them. Choked them back down.

Control it. Control it.

She waited two minutes. Fixed her face. Stepped back into the dinner party.

When she returned, Lawrence was finally there. Rence. Her twin. His hair was light brown, tousled in a way that looked effortless. Same hazel almond eyes as her, but nothing else matched. He was warmth where she was static. Laughter where she was silence.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, pulling her into a half-hug. He smelled like soap and wind.

Marjorie brightened again. "Oh Lawrence, you always know how to make an entrance."

Relly watched. Detached. Like she was viewing the table through glass.

Lawrence didn't sit next to her. He dragged his seat and slid in beside Jordan. The two of them started chatting. Jokes. Finance talk.

Relly faded. Quiet. Her plate sat full. Her wine untouched.

Marjorie didn't say much after a while. She didn't need to. But she kept looking at Relly. Through the soup course. Through Jordan's humblebrag about his latest crypto gain. Through Lawrence's clumsy toast.

The night passed in ripples of silence and sideways jabs. Relly smiled through all of it.

The real one? She was curled in some corner, fists clenched around her heart.

Still trying to claw her way back.

Until Marjorie touched her hand, cold fingers squeezing.

"Next year," she said curtly, "maybe someone else should plan. Just a thought."

Relly nodded. But something inside her wasn't nodding.

It was screaming.

In the quiet click of her water glass meeting the table, the scream grew louder. The other her stirred, just beneath the surface.

Waiting.

Breathing.

Ready.

Because even there, in that curated night of false warmth, she could feel the real Relly beginning to slip even further away.

***

Author's Note

hiya.

I'm just gonna make things quick because I like to know alot about my readers. It makes me feel connected and helps to make this writing journey not feel lonely. So, what country are you from? I'm so excited to hear it.

xoxo

Jasmine Stars