It was my 17th birthday.
I woke up that Tuesday morning hoping for something.
Maybe a cake.
A card.
A simple happy birthday.
Instead, the house was dark.
No balloons.
No pancakes.
No one waiting to surprise me.
I made my own toast.
Packed my own bag.
Sat at the table silently while Owen slept in again.
When my mom finally came downstairs, she was already rushing for work.
“Laya, did you remember to take the chicken out of the freezer?”
I blinked.
“Do you know what day it is?”
She frowned and checked her watch.
“Tuesday.”
I waited.