remembered me at all.
One year, it was a blender.
Another year, a gas card.
Last year, Mom handed me a candle she had pulled from the hallway closet and said, “You understand. Kayla needs more encouragement.”
This year, they invited me to dinner at my parents’ house.
For a moment, I actually thought something might have changed because Mom kept saying, “Please come, sweetheart. It’s important.”
So I put on a cream dress, bought my own birthday cake, and walked into a living room filled with blue balloons that
