Then this spring my mother had said, as if she were offering me a gift, “If you really want to see him, come for his birthday.”
So I took it.
I booked the flights that night. I told myself it meant something. That she was softening. That I was being let back in.
Instead, I walked into a party where I recognized only half the faces and realized the other half didn’t recognize me at all. People looked at me like a distant cousin who’d wandered in by accident. Friendly, polite, mildly curious. Nobody seemed surprised I’d been gone.
Maybe that was the first sign.
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