She sent a card with a careful note about wishing us well.

My father sent nothing.

I was disappointed, though the disappointment no longer seemed capable of swallowing the day.

At noon, Beatrice carried out a small cake iced with blue stars.

Noah reached toward it before anyone could sing.

We laughed and took pictures, and I let him crush a piece with his tiny fist.

Richard claimed the icing was too sweet.

He had two slices.