Five-year-old Ellie Bennett believed birthdays were supposed to begin with a wish.
She had been thinking about hers for three days.
Her mother, Claire, had warned her not to tell anyone what it was because birthday wishes supposedly stopped working once they were spoken aloud. Ellie had taken that warning so seriously that she refused even to whisper the wish to her stuffed rabbit the night before.
So when she finally stood behind the pink cake on Saturday afternoon, surrounded by balloons, grandparents, cousins, neighbors, and twenty people singing loudly enough to make her cover one ear, she was ready.
The cake was almost too pretty to touch.
It had two layers covered in strawberry-pink buttercream, a white scalloped border, colorful sprinkles around the base, and five thin candles burning across the top. Claire had ordered it from the little bakery Ellie loved downtown because the baker had remembered exactly how the girl described her dream birthday cake.
“Pink like cotton candy,” Ellie had said.
The baker had delivered precisely that.
Ellie’s brown curls had been clipped back with two tiny pink bows. Her dress matched the frosting almost perfectly, with soft tulle sleeves and a satin ribbon tied behind her waist.
Claire stood several feet away in the bright white kitchen of her mother-in-law’s enormous suburban house, holding her phone sideways to record.
“Make your wish, sweetheart.”
Ellie closed her eyes.
Her smile disappeared beneath an expression of absolute concentration.
Everyone laughed softly.
Her father, Luke, was outside helping his brother bring the last tray of food from the grill.
Claire could hear him through the open patio doors telling somebody not to drop the hamburgers.
She smiled.
For the first time in weeks, the day felt easy.
That mattered.
Nothing involving Luke’s mother had felt easy lately.
But Claire had promised herself she would not let tension between adults interfere with Ellie’s birthday.
Not today.
She lowered the phone slightly as Ellie opened her eyes.
“One, two, three!” somebody shouted.
Ellie leaned toward the candles.
She inhaled.
Then blew.
Five flames disappeared beneath a burst of white smoke.
Everyone cheered.
Ellie laughed.
And before Claire could stop recording, a hand appeared behind her daughter’s head.
It happened so quickly that Claire’s brain did not understand it at first.
A manicured hand rested against Ellie’s curls.
Then pushed.
Ellie’s face disappeared directly into the center of the birthday cake.
The top layer collapsed beneath her.
A plate rattled against the marble island.
Someone laughed reflexively.
Then Ellie lifted her head.
Pink frosting covered her nose, cheeks, lips, chin, eyelashes, and the front of her dress.
For perhaps half a second, she simply stood there.
Confused.
Then her mouth opened.
The sound that came from her was not laughter.
It was a terrified cry.
Claire’s phone nearly fell from her hand.
“Oh my God!”
She rushed around the kitchen island.
Ellie stumbled backward, unable to see properly because frosting covered one eye.
Claire caught her.
“Baby, baby, I’ve got you.”
She wiped frosting away from Ellie’s eyes with both hands.
Her daughter was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe between cries.
Behind them, Diane Bennett laughed.
“Oh, stop fussing. She’s fine.”
Claire slowly looked up.
Diane stood on the other side of the ruined cake wearing a navy blouse and a satisfied little smile.
Sixty-three years old, silver-gray hair cut neatly at her jaw, pearl earrings, expensive watch, posture straight enough to make her look taller than she was.
Luke’s mother had always possessed a strange talent for looking completely composed while everyone else around her was upset.
Claire stared at her.
“You did that?”
Diane’s smile faded slightly.
“For heaven’s sake, Claire. It was a joke.”
Ellie pressed her face against Claire’s sweater.
“Mommy.”
Claire held her tighter.
“You shoved her face into a cake.”
“That is what people do at birthdays.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Diane waved one hand.