I’d spent weeks planning my birthday — a simple dinner with close friends, nothing extravagant. The vegan restaurant was perfect: soft music, candlelight, and the kind of laughter that makes you forget time. But when the $375 bill landed, the room fell silent. I waited, expecting someone to suggest splitting it, but instead, one friend casually said, “You should pay — we only came because it’s your birthday.” The words stung more than I expected. I smiled, stepped outside, and let the cool night air calm me. I wasn’t angry — just hurt by how little my presence seemed to mean.
Continues…
