I should’ve known something was up when Emma stopped talking about her birthday. She’s usually counting down the days, planning every detail. But this year? Nothing.
After having to cancel last year’s party, I was determined to make this one special. I worked double shifts, sold my favorite earrings, and saved every spare dollar. It wouldn’t be extravagant, but it would be hers.
Then I learned Harper, a girl in Emma’s class, had the same birthday. Her mom, Laurel, was the kind of woman who made organic bento boxes look easy. I thought maybe we could share the party—split costs, share the work. My text was hopeful.
Her reply? “We’re planning something more elevated for Harper.”
Ouch.
Party day came. Nana Bea helped me string up mismatched decorations while Emma bounced around in excitement. But as the start time came and went, the backyard stayed empty. My heart broke watching Emma’s smile disappear.
Then—miraculously—kids started arriving.
Harper’s party had been a disaster. A tantrum, a flipped cake, guests leaving early. Our little backyard celebration suddenly became the place to be. Laughter filled the air, kids screamed along to karaoke, and Emma glowed with happiness.
Later, she told me Harper had been crying because her party was ruined. So Emma gave her our extra piñata. “She’s my friend,” Emma said. “I wanted her to have fun too.”
Laurel’s party was fancy. Ours was real. And in the end? Real won.
