she stopped.
Her face crumpled.
She didn’t scream or sob.
Tears simply slipped down her cheeks, as though she were embarrassed to be crying.
I reached toward her.
She stepped away.
Carefully, she placed my phone down.
Then faced the cake.
It was beautiful.
Three layers with piped rosettes.
Happy 67th, Grandma.
Written in dark chocolate.
She stared without speaking.
I felt helpless.
Then one thought came.
“No, not this time. Not again.”
I didn’t yet have a plan.
But I refused to let my family decide how Ava’s special
