restaurant had written CLAIRE on the birthday cake.
My name.
On my cake.
For my birthday.
Apparently, that was too much for her.
“Maybe we should celebrate another evening,” Mom whispered, clutching her phone. “Madison is feeling overwhelmed.”
I stared at her.
Dad appeared behind her, already loosening his tie.
“Your sister is emotionally fragile right now.”
Madison was twenty-two, perfectly healthy, voluntarily unemployed, and somehow emotionally fragile whenever the attention belonged to someone else.
I walked into the living room.
There she was.
Curled dramatically beneath a cream blanket
