The evening was supposed to be perfect.
For weeks, I had been planning every detail. I had chosen the menu with care, ordered the flowers days in advance, and strung warm golden lights across the garden so that when dusk fell, the table would glow beneath them. This wasn’t just any dinner—it was our annual family gathering, a tradition that had started with my grandparents and carried on through generations. A celebration of togetherness. A reminder that no matter how busy life became, family always came first.
At least, that’s what I believed.
Guests trickled in, their laughter filling the garden. My father admired the wine selection, my mother fussed over the place settings, and my cousins shared stories from work and school. For a moment, everything felt right.
