pulled into his driveway, balloons were tied to the mailbox, cars lined the curb, and music floated through the open front door.
Michael answered, saw me holding the cake, and lowered his voice as though I were a problem he needed to hide.
“Mom,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“It’s your birthday, sweetheart.”
His expression tightened.
“It’s just something with Anna’s family. This really isn’t a good time.”
He left me standing on the porch with the cake still in my hands.
I
