The anniversary night came faster than Emma expected. The week leading up to it had been a blur of meetings, last-minute menu adjustments, photographer negotiations, and constant “friendly suggestions” from the one blonde woman with a crew cut about everything from the floral arrangements to the precise shade of champagne in the table linens.

Her name was Karen. She lived up to it.

It had been exhausting. She’d gone home each evening with the faint smell of glue from ...