Later, lying in bed, I realized the dinner hadn’t been about money—it was about voice. About learning to speak up without guilt.
For years, I’d been a people-pleaser—saying yes when I wanted to say no, shrinking myself to keep others comfortable. But calling the restaurant ahead of time wasn’t rude. It was respectful—to both of us.
Since then, Mia and I still meet up. Sometimes she treats, sometimes I do, sometimes we split. The difference is—we talk about it first. No guilt. No guessing. Just understanding.
That night taught me something lasting: boundaries aren’t walls; they’re bridges.
They invite honesty, respect, and care to coexist.
The dinner wasn’t about the bill—it was about learning to say, “This is what I need,” and trusting that true friendship won’t flinch.
I left that restaurant not just full—but free.
