It was a tough choice: my wife’s birthday party or my best friend’s wedding. Both events fell on the same day. I told her, “She only gets married once.
You have a birthday every year.”She just smiled, though there was something behind that smile I couldn’t quite read.So I dressed up and went to the wedding. Halfway through the reception, while people were laughing and dancing, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number lit up my screen.
“If you really loved her, you’d be here tonight.”My heart skipped. I tried to call back, but the number didn’t exist.Panic swelled in my chest. I left the wedding early and rushed home.
When I opened the door, I froze. The living room was full of balloons, candles, and a cake that read:
Happy Birthday, Love. But no one was there.
On the table sat a single card with my name.Inside, in her handwriting, it read:I don’t need big parties or grand gestures. I only wanted you here. Love isn’t about the number of birthdays we celebrate—it’s about choosing each other every time.
”In that moment, I realized what I had done. I had measured her day against someone else’s, forgetting that she only gets this birthday once to. I hugged her when she came back from her friend’s place later, and promised myself never again to weigh her heart against someone else’s event.
