The dinner party is abuzz with the sound of laughter and the echo of the clink of glasses. Candles flicker on the table, painting everyone in a shade of gold. Emma beams as she tops off her husband’s glass with lemon water, his favorite beverage, before returning to the kitchen for the cake.
It’s the fifth anniversary, and everything looks perfect.
Across the table, her best friend Lily leans in, whispering in her ear, “He doesn’t deserve you.” Emma ignores it, plastering a smile onto her face.
The laughter continues, plates are cleared, and Emma brings the cake out. It’s nothing too extravagant, just a vanilla cake with a strawberry topping. Emma can barely hear the words of her guests over the rush of her own heartbeat. She holds her breath as she watches as her husband takes a bite.
But then Lily coughs. Once. Twice. Her fork clatters to the floor.
Everyone freezes and Emma rushes to her side instinctively, but her hands shake in realization spreads through her chest.
The glasses — she’d poured Lily’s first from the same pitcher, the same slice of lemon floating at the top.
Someone calls 9-1-1. Lily’s eyes are wide and pleading. Emma tries to speak, but the room spins, because next to Lily’s plate sits the glass she’d meant for her husband.
Her own lipstick stains the rim.
