Olivia “would appreciate them more.” My father added, with a chilling lack of empathy, that perhaps Norah would “learn a lesson” from the experience. I looked at Norah, standing in her purple dress with tears streaming down her face, and I made a final decision.
I did not argue. I did not scream or throw the ruined cake. I simply reached out, picked up Norah’s coat, her discarded paper crown, and a single unopened card from one of her little school friends. I lifted my daughter into my arms, feeling
