No one came to my daughter’s eighth birthday because my sister secretly told everyone I had canceled it. My parents t0ok her side and didn’t even call. I didn’t cry. The next m0rning, I made three phone calls that sent all of them into a panic.

Greg’s parents, Susan and Robert, stood there with a wrapped gift and a framed certificate that read granddaughter of the year. I still don’t know if it was grandma’s idea, grandpa’s, or both.

Lily hugged them like they were the whole party.

And in that moment, they were.

She showed them the decorations, the cake, the balloons, everything she’d spent the last two weeks preparing.

I watched her, and for one stupid second, I actually believed it was going to be okay.

By 3:30, no one else had come.

Greg said, “Maybe they’re just running late. Want me to check messages?”

And that’s when I felt my stomach twist.

Lily stood by the window, fidgeting with her dress, whispering, “Maybe they went to the park first. Maybe they’ll come after.”

I nodded, smiled. Crooked, but brave.