I wasn’t invited to my daughter’s wedding in Paris — the same wedding I helped pay for…

I think you did the right thing. For the first time in a long time I believed that too. When I returned to my desk there were more calls.

More texts. But I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

Because for the first time my silence spoke volumes. That evening, as I pulled into my driveway, the sky was already dimming. The porch light clicked on automatically.

Everything looked still peaceful, even. But there was someone sitting on my front steps. As I got closer, I recognized her.

Sophia. She stood up quickly, brushing invisible lint from her coat. Sophia had been Emily’s best friend since fifth grade.

She spent countless weekends at our house, baking cookies, watching movies, giggling in sleeping bags until dawn. I hadn’t seen her in years. Mrs. Collins, she said softly.

I’m sorry to drop by like this. It’s fine, I replied, unlocking the door. Would you like some tea? She followed me into the kitchen, her eyes scanning the familiar walls like they held old echoes.

I filled the kettle and waited. Emily sent you? I finally asked. She didn’t answer right away.

Then, she’s a mess. They lost the venue. The florist dropped out.

Andrew’s parents are threatening to cancel the wedding. I said nothing, placing two mugs on the counter. She’s panicking, Sophia continued.

She knows she messed up, she just doesn’t know how to fix it. Is that why you’re here, I asked, to fix it? She shook her head. No, I’m here to ask, is there anything she can say or do to change your mind? I paused.

Was there? Would an apology change the way it felt to be excluded, to be used like a bank account, to be told you’re not welcome unless your money is? I looked at Sophia, still young, still hopeful. No, I said quietly. There isn’t.

Her shoulders sagged, not even if she apologizes. I handed her a mug of tea. Words are easy, Sophia, especially when people are desperate…