PART 18: The Celebration That Wasn’t About Revenge

On my seventy-fourth birthday, Nina arrived with a cake whose frosting was slightly crooked.

Sam brought a tiny lemon tree, despite my insistence that I had only a balcony.

Marcus arrived with a photo album full of pictures I’d forgotten existed.

We ate dinner at the little dining table Sam had assembled backward.

One leg still wobbled.

He blamed the manufacturer.

We all laughed.