name was written in delicate blue icing, a sugary testament to her five years of life. But before I could even strike a match, my mother stepped forward and gripped Olivia’s shoulder, steering her toward the head of the table. “Let Olivia stand beside her,” she commanded. “She shouldn’t feel left out.”
I felt a surge of heat rise in my chest and forced my voice to remain steady. “Mum, it’s Norah’s birthday. She should be at the center.” Clare smirked, crossing her arms with a dismissive huff. “They’re cousins,
