A Simple Birthday
The candles flickered over a table set for three. My 47th birthday, once joyful, now marked silence. For two years, my daughter Karen hadn’t spoken to me. Still, I set her plate. “Just in case,” I told Brad, my husband. Dinner was quiet, haunted by her absence. Afterward, I tried calling—no answer, again. Then, a knock. Nigel stood there, envelope in hand. A letter from Karen. Apologizing. Missing me. Inviting me. Tears blurred my vision as I read her words. I held hope in my hands. “I have to see her,” I whispered. Brad didn’t hesitate. “Then let’s book the flight.”
I hesitated. “Would you mind if I stayed another day? Or two?”
Karen looked at me, then nodded. “I’d like that.”
Later, I whispered to Brad, “She hugged me.”
He replied, “Take all the time you need. This is what we were praying for.”
Snow fell softly outside her apartment. A fresh start.
We walked to the lake, talked, cooked, laughed. She gave me a blank birthday card.
“A new tradition,” she said.
Before leaving, I promised to return soon.
Back home, I wrote the first card.
Dear Karen,
Thank you for opening the door.
Love always,
Mom.
Full circle.
