I didn’t have to earn a seat.
I could simply be loved.
I looked around the room.
Hannah was grinning proudly.
Camille was wiping tears from her cheeks.
Dad stood holding a fork, smiling.
Ruth watched from the armchair with the same gentle expression she’d worn that night at Alderwood.
And
Mom stood before me, finally offering the first piece instead of the last.
I took a bite.
The frosting was far too sweet.
The cake was a little uneven.
One layer was slightly underbaked.
And the pink roses were more like little blobs of icing.
But it was the best birthday cake I’d ever tasted.
Sometimes people at work still mention the anniversary incident.
Teresa told the story to a few coworkers, and somehow it became known as the night of the woman in the red dress.
They joke that I finally delivered the perfect response to years of unfair treatment.
