I took a breath and stepped closer. Mom caught sight of me. Her smile dimmed a fraction.

“Oh,” she said, as if I’d just interrupted something sacred. “You came.”

Dad turned. His eyes landed on me, then quickly moved past, like someone glancing at a misplaced coat. No hug. No, “You look beautiful.” No, “We’re proud of you.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

“Where are you sitting?” Mom asked, already distracted by another guest waving.

“Table 14, I think,” I said quietly.

She blinked. “Near the back.”