Denise. Honestly, stop making everything a problem.” Then, my father reached out and nudged the cake slightly toward Olivia, repositioning it as if the celebration had two guests of honor instead of one.
Norah stared at the shifting cake in disbelief, her small voice trembling as she whispered, “Those are my candles.” The room grew unnervingly quiet; parents stopped their side conversations and children paused mid-sip of their juice boxes. My mother didn’t flinch. She simply rested a firm hand on Olivia’s shoulder and gave a sharp nod. “Go ahead,
