I touched the corner of that last one.
***
By 2 p.m., Ailani and Skylar, Hannah’s best friends, had descended into our living room in a whirlwind of glitter and gift bags.
“Mrs. B, the cake is unreal,” Ailani said, dropping her purse on the couch. “Did you make the little raspberry things yourself?”
“I did. Don’t tell Hannah; she’ll want them for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Too late, I already heard you,” my daughter called from the stairs.
“Don’t tell Hannah.”
Skylar shrieked when Hannah came down in her new blue dress. The three of them fell into that hurricane of hugging and squealing that only teenage girls can produce.
I stood in the doorway watching, arms folded, trying to memorize every second.
“Presents!” Ailani declared, pointing at the pile on the coffee table. “Let’s open them now while the other guests are outside.”
“Bossy,” Hannah said, laughing.
“Correct!”
Skylar shrieked when Hannah came down.
The girls arranged themselves cross-legged on the rug. Hannah started sorting through the gifts. I leaned against the doorframe and let myself smile.
For 13 years, I’d raised that girl mostly alone, ever since we lost Luke. Her father had walked out long before that, when Luke was still a teenager, and Hannah was barely more than a toddler.
I’d stopped waiting for him to return a long time ago.
Her father had walked out.
Once, when Hannah was maybe nine, she’d asked me about him.
“Did he love us, Mom?”
“I think he loved you the best way he knew how, baby. It just wasn’t enough. That’s on him, not on you.”
She’d nodded as if she were filing it away and had never asked again. I had an old wedding photo tucked in the back of my sock drawer that she’d never seen. Some days, I forgot it was there.
She’d asked me about him.
But today wasn’t a day for old ghosts. Today was a day for cake, lanterns, and my daughter laughing on the rug with her two best friends.
“Okay, this one first,” Hannah announced, reaching into the pile.
Her fingers moved toward a plain white envelope wedged between two wrapped boxes.
I don’t remember putting it there.
“Okay, this one first.”
Hannah’s fingers hovered over it. It had no bow, ribbon, or return address written in anyone’s familiar handwriting.
“Who’s this one from?” She asked, holding it up.
Ailani shrugged and glanced at Skylar.
“Not us,” Skylar said. “We found it sticking out of the mailbox, addressed to you, and just brought it in and propped it there.”
“Who’s this one from?”
I stepped closer, wiping my hands on the dish towel I’d been carrying. Something about that envelope made me worry before I could understand why.
Hannah slid a finger under the flap and pulled out a folded card. A photo slipped into her lap, and she picked it up slowly.
“Mom.” She frowned. “This is me. From three days ago. It looks like the same photo you took of me while I was wearing this apron at the coffee shop on Wednesday.”
Something about that envelope made me worry.
I leaned over her shoulder. It was Hannah, mid-laugh, wiping down a table by the front window. Someone had taken it from across the street, close enough to catch the little silver hoop she’d started wearing that same morning.
“Did you make this?” my daughter asked me. “Is this some kind of surprise?”
“No, sweetheart.” I quickly checked my phone and saw a similar picture. “I’ve never seen that one before,” I said softly.
