When she opened her eyes the next morning, the headache was gone. The cold had passed. The heaviness in her chest had vanished too. All that remained was the dull ache in her body—most likely from the long event yesterday.
She stretched under the sheets, wincing slightly as her back and legs throbbed, subtle reminders of the heels she wore the night before. With a yawn, she reached for her phone on the nightstand.
One glance at the screen and she straightened up. Her eyes widened. Her jaw almost dropped.
Thirty-five messages. Ten missed calls. Her notifications were flooded with greetings and tags. On Instagram, Facebook, Viber.
Danica: "Bestie, happy birthday! Let's get drunk this weekend. You deserve it."
Mom: "Happy birthday, honey! I'm so proud of you. Don't forget our dinner later. Love you."
Dad: "Happy birthday, Baby. May all your wishes come true."
Marco: "Happy birthday."
Even the intern from the office sent her a greeting. College friends. Old acquaintances. All of them remembered, except him.
Her screen lit up again. This time, it was a call from her mother. A soft smile briefly curved on her lips before she answered.
"Hi, Mom," she greeted while sliding off the bed.
"Honey, what time will you be here later? The chef is already on his way to prepare dinner. We also had the garden lights fixed. It looks even more beautiful now."
She froze. Her heart dropped slowly, like a coin rolling off a table.
Troy. His words from last night echoed in her ears. He said he'd make it up to her. She didn't even understand why the next words came out of her mouth.
"Mommy? C-Can we reschedule the dinner for the weekend instead?"
She mentally cursed herself.
There you go again, Maxine.
Silence. For a few seconds, her mother didn't respond.
"I thought you were coming tonight, honey. Is there a problem?"
"Sorry, Mom. Something came up," she whispered. The guilt was instant. "I promise I'll be home this weekend."
Her mother agreed, but her sadness was clear and she hated herself for it.
Troy, you better keep your fucking promise.
She ended the call and exhaled sharply. Her palms, now clenched, felt cold and shaky. Her heart was racing, and she didn't even know why.
Why did she just cancel a dinner with her family?
Maybe because Troy said he'd make it up to her or somehow, after everything, she was still that girl stupid enough to hope.
Let me prove myself. Just tomorrow. His voice echoed in her head again.
Damn it!
She hated herself for hoping.
But some part of her—the softest, most foolish part—still did. One last time. One final chance. Not to believe him, but to believe she mattered enough now.
By four in the afternoon, she started preparing. She took a long shower under the hottest water she could handle. Her favorite lavender-scented body wash filled the room. It calmed her, but not enough to ease the nerves twisting in her gut. After toweling off, she took her time with her skincare and makeup. Not too much. Just enough to look like she wasn't trying too hard.
She opened her closet and reached for the dress she bought during her trip to Paris. A silk deep burgundy dress—fitted perfectly at her waist. It had never been worn. She had been saving it for a special occasion. She didn't know if tonight was that moment but she wore it anyway.
Standing in front of the mirror, she tried to rehearse what she'd say.
"I'm glad you came." No! It sounds too eager.
"So, what changed?" Not that Maxine, too bitter.
"Thanks for remembering." Bullshit. It sounds too formal.
She chuckled under her breath. She looked like a woman in control, but inside, she was trembling. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to be shoved. A single word from him—wrong or right—could ruin her all over again.
Her phone vibrated. It was a message from Seymour which slightly distracted her from what she's doing.
"Happy birthday, Max. Enjoy your day. You deserve more than the world gives."
She smiled slightly and replied with a simple thank you.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Her pulse jumped. She didn't even check the peephole; she just opens it with a prepared smile. When she opened the door, her smile vanished.
It was a delivery man. He handed her a box. She signed the receipt and offered a quiet thank you. Inside was a cake. It was from Danica. A chocolate cake with white icing. The words piped in delicate cursive:
Happy Birthday, Maxine.
She sat at the dining table, staring at the cake. A smile tugged at her lips but it stung. She looked around. Everything was ready.
Candles—check.
Wine—check.
A simple but elegant dinner table setup. She opened the bottle of wine—not her favorite, but his. It was the only bottle left in her fridge.
At exactly 7:00 p.m., she sat down. She turned off the lights and let the candles illuminate the room.
7:30. She fixed her hair and retouched her lipstick.
8:00. Still nothing. No message nor call from Troy.
Maybe he's stuck in traffic. She whispered it, as if saying it aloud would make it true.
8:30. She checked her phone again. Still nothing.
9:15. She poured herself a second glass.
10:05. She blew out one of the candles while she let the other burn.
11:20. Her phone lit up. Only to be dismayed because it was only a last-minute greeting from Mr. Rivas.
11:55. She lit the candle on the cake.
She no longer expected anything and stopped hoping.
Her heart was heavy—not just with disappointment, but with shame.
She had betrayed herself again. For someone who never chose her. And she was so fucking tired.
She blew out the candle. The flame flickered, then vanished into the air.
Happy birthday, Maxine. You canceled on the people who never failed you—for someone who always did.
Minutes later, she stood up, walked to the mirror, and slowly removed her earrings. She unzipped the dress. Folded it neatly and tucked it behind the cabinet.
She lay down on the bed. Her phone blinked for a new notification.Without thinking, she opened it.
It was a post from Trina. A photo of her with Troy's family.
The caption:
"Grateful to be where I belong. Thank you, Mommy Elle. Thank you, Troy."
She didn't cry nor scream. She didn't throw her phone or curse.She just stared at her screen. At the family she never met and the man who broke her. Again.
Then she closed her eyes. Not because she was tired but because there was nothing left to see. And maybe that was the clearest sign of all.