She laughed, and for a moment the evening looked like any ordinary birthday.

There were balloons in the dining room, a cake from a supermarket bakery, and paper plates with gold stars on them.

Emma had arranged the candles in a perfectly straight row.

She told me she wanted to become an illustrator or a veterinarian, although she was still considering whether a person could be both.

“You can keep considering,” I told her.

“There’s no deadline.”