The party was small. Our apartment wasn’t fancy. But it looked joyful.
Friday morning, I called my mother to confirm. “Of course we’ll be there, honey,” she said brightly. “We wouldn’t miss our grandbaby’s birthday for anything.”
Relief washed through me. “Party starts at two,” I said. “I know it’s a bit of a drive, but it means so much to Lily.”
“We’ll be there with bells on,” Mom promised.
Saturday arrived bright and clear, with that crisp October light that makes even an apartment parking lot look almost pretty. Lily wore her favorite purple dress and sparkly shoes. She kept spinning in the living room, asking if her skirt looked like a princess skirt.
At two o’clock, the first guests arrived. Then more. The apartment filled with children’s voices, paper plates, juice boxes, and the sweet smell of frosting. We played games. We sang songs. Marcus took pictures. Parents chatted near the kitchen counter while kids chased each other between the couch and the hallway.
Lily kept running to the window. “When will Grandma and Grandpa be here?”
“Any minute now,” I said.
At two-thirty, I checked my phone. No messages.
At three, the kids were eating cake. Lily’s face fell a little more every time the door opened and someone else walked in. “Mommy,” she asked, her lower lip trembling, “where are they?”
“I’m sure they’re just running late, baby.”
My hands shook when I dialed Mom. Straight to voicemail. I called Dad. Same thing.
By four o’clock, the party was winding down. Parents collected their children and thanked us for having them. The balloons looked tired. The frosting had dried on the edge of the cake knife. Wrapping paper lay in a soft pile near the sofa.
Lily sat on the couch in her purple dress, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. “They forgot about me,” she whispered.
Marcus sat beside her and pulled both of us into his arms. He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave me was full of anger and pity. Not pity for me exactly. Pity for the part of me that still kept trying to defend them.
After Lily finally fell asleep, I called again. This time, Dad answered on the third ring. I heard voices behind him. Laughter. Dishes. The clink of glasses.
“Dad,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “where were you today? Lily’s party was today.”
“Oh,” he said, distracted. “That was today?”
I froze. “Yes. I called yesterday to confirm.”
“Your mother and I went to visit your brother in Phoenix. Danny’s been asking us to come out, and we figured, why not?”
My brother Danny. The golden child. The son with the six-figure job, the house with the pool, the wife my mother called “so put together,” and two children my parents never seemed too tired to visit. Danny had never been asked to send $550 a week. He didn’t have to buy approval. He already had it.
“You knew about the party,” I said.
“Well, we can’t drop everything for every little thing, Sarah. We have other grandchildren too.”
Every little thing. It was Lily’s fifth birthday. A cold heaviness settled into my chest.
Dad kept talking like he was explaining traffic. “We’ll make it up to her. We’re having a wonderful time out here. Danny took us to this incredible restaurant last night. The steaks were phenomenal. His kids are in so many activities. Soccer, piano, swimming. We’re watching Ethan’s game tomorrow.”
Each word felt deliberate, even if he didn’t mean it that way. They had chosen Danny’s children over mine. They had traveled to Phoenix, a trip that could not have been cheap, while I sent them $550 every week because they supposedly could not pay their bills.
“How did you afford the trip?” I asked.
Dad went quiet. “What do you mean?” he said finally.
“I mean, how did you afford flights, restaurants, and a trip to Phoenix when I’m sending you money every week because you say you can’t make ends meet?”
His tone hardened. “We saved up.”
“Saved up from the money I send you for bills?”
The silence told me more than any answer could have. Then Dad came back cold.
“That money is ours, Sarah. What we do with it is our business. You offered to help us, remember? We didn’t force you.”