Colorful balloons were taped to the kitchen door.
Heart-shaped pancakes.
A paper crown that he wore proudly all morning, as if he had been officially crowned ruler of the house.
Emma – my Emma – finally smiled again, after a year overshadowed by too many worries, worries that no child should have to carry.
My parents arrived on time, dressed like they were posing for a magazine photoshoot, not a children’s party.
My mother brought a shiny gift bag with the tissue paper perfectly arranged.
My dad kept his phone at the ready, clearly ready to capture a moment when they would look like immaculate grandparents.
“Happy birthday, darling!” my mother sang.
Emma exclaimed in joy and pulled the gift out of the bag.
A pink dress slipped out – soft tulle with tiny sequins, exactly the kind of dress little girls imagine as princesses.
Emma’s face brightened immediately.
He lifted it to his chest and spun around once, laughing.
Then he froze.
The change was so sudden that my stomach clenched before my brain could process it.
Emma stared at the dress as if it had suddenly changed.
“Mom,” he said softly.
“What is this?”
I stepped closer.
“What are you thinking, dear?”
Emma slid two fingers under the lining at her waist and pinched something hard between them.
The fabric tightened around him.
Whatever it was, it clearly didn’t belong there.
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