Chapter 1: The Birthday Cake That Wasn't Mine
"That cake isn't for you, Emily. Stop embarrassing yourself and get away from the table.""
My mother's voice cut through the laughter of twelve children gathered around our dining room table. Then, in front of every one of them, she lifted the pink-frosted birthday cake out of my trembling hands and placed it beside my older sister's plate.
I was nine years old.
All I had wanted was one slice.
The cake smelled like vanilla and strawberries. Pink sugar roses curled along its edges, and nine little candles stood in the center. My mother, Diane, had spent the entire morning decorating it for my sister, Madison, who was turning eleven.
Except the party had been advertised as a joint celebration.
At least, that was what the invitations had said.
My name was printed right beside Madison's.
*Madison and Emily's Birthday Bash!*
My birthday had been three days earlier. Madison's was that afternoon. Since our birthdays fell in the same week, Dad had suggested celebrating them together.
He had even promised to come home early from his business trip.
But Dad's flight had been delayed, and Mom had decided that meant the party belonged to Madison alone.
I stood beside the table, holding a paper plate that had begun to bend beneath my fingers.
"But, Mom," I whispered, "you said we were sharing.""
Diane didn't look at me.
She adjusted the cake stand, carefully turning the pink roses toward Madison's friends.
"I said we were celebrating in the same week. I never said this cake was for you.""
"But my name is on the invitation.""
"Emily.""
She said my name the way other people said the word disgusting.
"Must you always make everything about yourself?""
A few children stopped chewing.
Madison sat at the head of the table wearing a silver birthday crown. She looked at me, then at the cake, and pulled her chair closer to Mom.
"Mom, can you cut mine first?"" she asked.
"Of course, sweetheart.""
Diane picked up the cake knife.
I watched her press it through the soft frosting, separating a generous slice with two pink roses on top. She placed it on Madison's plate, then cut another for Madison's best friend.
And another.
And another.
Every time the knife scraped against the ceramic plate, my stomach tightened.
I had eaten half a piece of toast that morning. Mom had said there was no point making breakfast because the party food would be enough.
Now the other children were eating cake while I stood beside the table, trying not to cry.
A boy named Tyler glanced at me.
"Didn't you say it was your birthday, too?""
Before I could answer, Diane set the knife down.
"Emily has already had her celebration," she announced.
"She doesn't need another one.""
That wasn't true.
There had been no balloons for me. No birthday breakfast. No cake.
Three days earlier, Mom had handed me a twenty-dollar bill and told me to buy something useful.
When I asked if we could get a small cake, she said I was too old to expect people to make a fuss over me.
I had bought a secondhand notebook instead.
It was blue, with a cracked plastic cover and a tiny silver lock. I kept it beneath a loose floorboard in my bedroom.
Inside, I wrote down things I didn't know how to say aloud.
Things that happened when Dad wasn't home.
Things Mom told me never to tell him.
Things I sometimes wondered whether I had imagined, because surely no mother could mean the things mine said.
I pressed my thumb against the edge of my paper plate.
"Mom, please," I said.
"Just a little piece. I won't ask for anything else.""
Diane turned toward me so quickly that her earrings swung.
"Did you not hear what I said?""
"I heard you.""
"Then why are you still standing there?""
"Because I'm hungry.""
The words escaped before I could stop them.
For a moment, the room went completely quiet.
Then Diane laughed.
Not a warm laugh. Not the kind that made people feel included.
It was the short, sharp laugh she used whenever I said something she wanted everyone else to find ridiculous.
"Hungry?"" she repeated.
"You should be grateful you're even allowed to attend your sister's party.""
My cheeks burned.
"I live here.""
Madison's eyes widened.
Diane stepped toward me.
"What did you just say?""
I immediately lowered my head.
"Nothing.""
"No. Go ahead. Tell everyone how terribly your mother treats you.""
She gestured toward the children, who were now staring at their plates.
"Go on, Emily. Since you apparently need an audience.""
My eyes filled with tears.
"I just wanted cake.""
"And I said no.""
She took my paper plate from my hands, folded it in half, and dropped it into the trash.
The sound was small.
Somehow, it hurt more than if she had shouted.
I ran to the hallway before anyone could see me cry.
Behind me, I heard Madison giggle.
Then Mom called after me.
"And don't you dare come back until you've fixed that face!""
I stopped beside the staircase.
I could still smell the cake.
Through the doorway, I watched my mother place another slice on Madison's plate. She kissed my sister's forehead, straightened her crown, and told her she was the most precious girl in the world.
I stood in the shadow of the hallway, wiping my cheeks with the sleeves of my yellow dress.
The dress had been mine first.
Madison had worn it to a school event the previous year, but when I asked if I could wear it for my birthday, Mom told me to stop stealing my sister's things.
She had thrown it at me that morning and said it was the only clean dress left.
I didn't understand how one child could be precious while another was a burden.
I only knew that I had tried very hard to be good.
I washed the dishes without being asked. I folded the laundry. I stayed quiet when Mom complained about me to her friends. I never asked for toys unless someone else offered them first.
I even apologized when I accidentally broke a glass, although Mom had knocked it off the counter herself.
None of it seemed to matter.
A small voice behind me interrupted my thoughts.
"Emily?""
I turned.
Madison stood at the end of the hallway, holding a half-eaten slice of cake.
For one ridiculous second, hope rose inside me.
Then she looked over her shoulder to make sure Mom wasn't watching.
"Here," she whispered.
She held the slice out.
I reached for it.
Madison pulled it back.
"Actually, Mom said you're not allowed to have any.""
I stared at her.
"Then why did you bring it?""
She glanced down at the frosting.
"Because I wanted to see if you'd beg.""
My hands fell to my sides.
Madison took another bite, watching me over the top of the cake.
"You know what Mom says?"" she asked.
"She says you're the reason Dad is always working. She says if you weren't such a problem, he'd want to come home more.""
I couldn't breathe for a moment.
"That's not true.""
"How would you know?""
She shoved the remaining cake into her mouth and walked away.
I stayed in the hallway until the laughter started again.
Then I went upstairs.
I closed my bedroom door, knelt beside my bed, and lifted the loose floorboard. My little blue notebook was exactly where I had left it.
I opened it to the last page.
My handwriting had grown smaller over the months, as if even the words were afraid of taking up too much space.
I wrote:
October 18. Mom said the cake wasn't for me. Madison laughed. I asked for one piece, but Mom threw away my plate.
I paused, listening to the muffled voices downstairs.
Then I added one more sentence.
I think maybe nobody remembers that I'm their daughter, too.
A car door slammed outside.
I froze.
Another door opened. Footsteps crossed the front porch.
Then I heard a familiar voice from downstairs.
"Hey! I'm home early. Where are my birthday girls?""
Dad.
For the first time that afternoon, I felt something dangerously close to hope.
I hurried to the bedroom door, clutching my notebook against my chest.
But before I could reach the stairs, I heard Mom answer him.
"Everything's wonderful, honey. The girls are having a beautiful day.""
Then came a pause.
A long one.
May you like
And Dad asked a question that made the blood drain from my face.
"Then why is Emily crying upstairs?""
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