Late that evening, just as I was winding down, my phone buzzed. It was a message from my friend.
She wrote:
I read the words over and over again. My heart sank.
Uninvited. After all the hours I had poured into preparing food for her celebration, she didn’t want me there. She still wanted my effort, my cooking, my contribution—but not my presence.
It felt like being told: “Your work is welcome. You are not.”
Choosing My Response
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