We walked out onto the quiet terrace overlooking the golf course. The cool night air hit my face, grounding me.
Betty leaned against the stone railing, wiping her smeared mascara with a napkin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking out at the dark grass. “I know I’m the last person on earth you want to deal with tonight.”
“I was definitely surprised,” I admitted honestly. “Why are you crying, Betty?”
She let out a bitter, tired laugh.
“Because seeing you walk into that room looking so happy, so strong, and so completely comfortable in who you are… it made me realize how much time I’ve wasted.”
Betty looked at me, her eyes completely raw.
She explained that after high school, she had chased the exact same superficial validation she had fed on in high school. She married a man her parents approved of who barely spoke to her, worked at a job she hated just to maintain an image, and spent ten years terrified of gaining a single pound or showing a single wrinkle.
“In high school, I was mean to you because you were invisible,” Betty admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And I thought as long as I made people look down on you, they’d keep looking up to me. But you did the hard work. You built a real life. And I’m still just playing a character.”
