“Stella made this when she was nine,” Chloe said.

“Please come to my birthday, Mom.”

Stella covered her mouth.

The card had been stored with the envelope and the record of the address used.

Chloe held them together rather than displaying the sentence as though a child’s wish alone could establish every detail of delivery.

“I remember making that,” Stella said quietly.

Elena looked toward her, then back at Chloe.

“You don’t understand what was happening.”