Instead, I walked into that hotel ballroom wearing red, and nobody recognized the girl they’d spent years laughing at.
For the first time, I had a choice.
I could tell them who I was.
Or I could stay quiet long enough to hear who they still were.
I almost wore black to my ten-year reunion.
The red dress hung from the closet door in my hotel room while I stood in front of the mirror, holding a black cardigan like it could save me.
My phone rang before I could put it on.
Mom’s face filled the screen. She took one look at me and sighed.
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