When Anna mentioned her high school reunion, I barely looked up from my phone. She leaned against the kitchen counter, twisting her hair into that familiar knot she makes when she’s pretending not to care—though everyone could see she did. Behind her, the usual chaos unfolded. One child hopping around missing a shoe, another groaning over homework, and the baby drumming a spoon against the tray like it was a drum solo. Our life. Messy. Loud. Full. “They’re having the ten-year reunion next month,” she said, voice casual but eyes betraying her excitement. “I thought about going.” I snorted. Not…
