I watched someone else celebrate on my anniversary

Dear Delyara, I work security at a hotel where weddings last until sunrise. Tonight, a bride and groom crossed the lobby under a shower of flower petals while their families clapped. It was also my twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. My wife died five years ago. She used to joke that we would celebrate our silver anniversary by returning to the cheap restaurant where we had our first meal and ordering everything we could not afford then. During my break, I sat behind the loading bay and opened the lunch she used to pack in the same steel container I still carry. My daughter had filled it this morning, but she does not arrange the food the way her mother did. Nobody does. At midnight, the wedding band played the song from our ceremony. I stood at the lobby doors checking invitations while strangers danced to the music that once belonged to us. I did not cry. Grief has become more private than that. I simply pressed my wedding ring against my palm until the edge left a mark, then returned to checking names.