Underneath It All
Underneath It All
"What holds us up isn’t what the world sees—it’s the quiet strength we wear underneath it all."
The invitation came in an envelope the color of champagne, with gold letters that shimmered like they were trying too hard.
“15-Year Reunion – Fairhaven University,” it read.
Fifteen years.
Serena Huang stared at the words as if they might rearrange themselves into something less terrifying, like Netflix Password Reset.
She set the envelope on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge, even though she wasn’t hungry. People do this when they’re avoiding reality—open doors, look at things, pretend butter is interesting.
Inside was half a carton of almond milk, a bag of baby spinach on the edge of doom, and three cans of sparkling water. None of it said, You’re thriving and ready to impress people from your past.
Serena closed the fridge and leaned against the counter, thinking.
**
Once, she thought reunions were for other people. The glossy, well-adjusted types who owned vacation homes and still fit into their college jeans. Not for data scientists who spent most days buried in algorithms and takeout containers.
Not for women who, at thirty-seven, were still trying to convince themselves that divorce didn’t mean failure.
But something inside her whispered, Go. Maybe curiosity, maybe hope. Or maybe the part of her that still wanted to prove—if only to herself—that she had made something of her life.
So she RSVP’d yes.
**
The day of the reunion, Serena woke up early and stood in front of her closet like it held the answer to life’s questions. Nothing looked right. Everything felt like either hostess at a mid-range bistro or please hire me, I’m desperate.
Finally, she pulled out a deep green wrap dress. Elegant, a little daring. But here’s the thing: the dress had history. It was the same one she wore to her first big conference presentation at twenty-eight—the day she realized she belonged in rooms where voices carried weight.
She held it up and smiled, remembering that younger version of herself. Ambitious. Nervous. Brave in ways she didn’t even recognize at the time.
When she tried it on, it still fit—mostly. But the years had added curves, and the fabric hugged a little tighter than it once did. Not bad, just… different.
That’s when she reached for the shapewear folded neatly in the drawer. Smooth, simple, dependable. Not to hide anything, but to remind herself: you are supported. You are held.
As she slid it on, she caught her reflection. Not the twenty-two-year-old who had started this journey, not even the twenty-eight-year-old who nailed that first presentation—but a woman who had lived, loved, lost, and learned.
She whispered to the mirror, “Let’s do this.”
**
The hotel ballroom smelled faintly of roses and ambition. A banner stretched across the entrance: Welcome Back, Fairhaven Class of 2010!
Inside, clusters of former classmates hugged like the years had melted away. Laughter rippled through the air. Serena scanned the room, her heart doing tiny flip-flops.
And then she saw him.
Ethan Reynolds. Debate team captain. Her almost-something during senior year. The one who made her laugh so hard in the campus library that the librarian banned them from sitting together.
He looked… well, like a man who’d aged well enough to star in an insurance commercial. Broad shoulders, warm smile, a sprinkle of silver at the temples.
Before she could decide whether to approach or hide behind the bar, he spotted her.
“Serena Hwang,” he said, walking over with that same easy confidence. “Wow. You look—” He paused, and for a second, she was twenty-two again, waiting for his words like a grade on an exam.“—exactly the same,” he finished with a grin.
She laughed. “You need new glasses.”
**
They spent the next hour catching up. He told her about his two kids, his career in environmental law. She told him about her work in data science, her projects in climate modeling. When she mentioned the divorce, he didn’t flinch or offer pity—just nodded, like life happens and we keep moving.
As the night unfolded, Serena felt something she hadn’t expected: not just nostalgia, but gratitude. Gratitude for every twist and turn that led her here—not perfect, but whole.
At one point, Ethan said, “Remember that road trip to the coast senior year? You wore that ridiculous straw hat.”
She laughed so hard her side hurt. “It wasn’t ridiculous. It was… bold.”
“Bold,” he echoed, smiling in a way that made the years between them shrink.
**
Later, as the band played a cover of Don’t Stop Believin’ (because of course they did), Serena found herself on the dance floor, surrounded by old friends and strangers who used to be friends. She wasn’t twenty-two, or trying to be. She was thirty-seven, with laugh lines and lessons stitched into her soul, and in that moment, it felt… enough.
More than enough.
**
Back home that night, Serena hung the green dress on its hanger and carefully folded the shapewear. She ran her fingers over the smooth fabric, smiling at the thought of what it represented—not hiding, not pretending, but supporting.
Like the quiet ways we hold ourselves together when no one’s looking. The inner scaffolding that keeps us standing through heartbreak and hope.
Underneath it all, she thought, we are more resilient than we ever give ourselves credit for.
And with that, she turned off the light and whispered into the dark, “Here’s to second chances—and to loving the life that came from all the first ones.”
