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.
