DEMETRIA

The reception hall smelled like champagne, roses, and frosting, a blend of celebration and sugar that always left me buzzing. The host, Mrs. Lambert, a radiant blur of lace and joy, was practically glowing as she held one of my lemon meringue cupcakes, her eyes wide with delight.

“Demetria, these are incredible!” she gushed, turning to show her husband. “I can’t believe how soft they are, and the frosting? I swear, it’s sinful.”

I grinned, feeling that familiar warmth in ...