I took my time dressing up the next morning, pretending I didn’t care, but my trembling hands betrayed me.

Every time I tried to clasp my earring, it slipped from my fingers. I must’ve stared at my reflection for a solid minute before realizing I was still practicing the same sentence again,

“Mom said you should attend your Dad’s event.”

It sounded stiff every time. I sighed and ran a hand over my hair. Why was my voice shaking? Why was I even nervous? and why was overly conscious of my blue round neck and jeans?

The drive to Jeremy’s mansion felt like an emotional torture. I kept rehearsing what...