Vera went abroad eight years ago. Harrison and I married eight years ago.
My thumb traced the indented paper. Vision blurred. A heavy stone settled on my chest, making every breath a struggle. The pain in my wrist flared, syncing with the ache in my heart.
Downstairs, the front door slammed.
Blake tossed his backpack onto the sofa, didn't even take off his shoes before turning to leave again.
"Almost dinner time," I called out, gesturing to the meal I'd prepared. "Where are you going?"
He paused, turning halfway. That's when I noticed the exquisitely wrapped pink gift box in his hands.
"A classmate's birthday?"
Blake quickly hid the box behind his back, expression turning defensive. "It's Auntie Vera's birthday. Dad and I promised to get her a gift."
He looked at me, young eyes devoid of guilt. "Mom, I know it's your birthday too. But you're too old for pink gifts. They don't suit you."
The air left my lungs. My husband and son hadn't just forgotten my birthday—they'd hidden the fact that Vera was back in the country.
Harrison didn't return until ten.
When he walked into the bedroom and saw the organized closet, his mask slipped. For a split second, panic flickered in his eyes.
He spun around, gaze sharp. "Sara, didn't I tell you to wait? Your wrist is acting up—you shouldn't be overworking yourself."
I forced my mouth into a smile, though my insides had gone cold.
"It's fine," I lied. "I only moved a few clothes. Didn't touch anything else."
The implication hung heavy in the air: I hadn't opened the yearbook.
Harrison's shoulders dropped, tension draining out of him in a long, audible exhale.
I pretended not to notice, turning to the empty living room. "Where's Blake?"
Normally, he'd be tucked into bed by now. But the house was silent. I couldn't find him anywhere.
Panic rising, I dialed his smartwatch. Only then did I discover the truth: he was still at Vera's apartment. He'd even used his allowance to buy her medicine.
His voice, shrill and accusatory, pierced through the speaker.
"It's all your fault, Mom! If it weren't for you, Auntie Vera wouldn't have hurt her back. She wouldn't be spending her birthday in pain."
"Blake—"
"Do you know how much it hurts her?" he interrupted, trembling with righteous indignation. "She can barely walk. She needs someone to take care of her. I'm not coming home. I want to stay here and be Auntie Vera's little hero."