Mila.
Miriam.
Nadine, who accepted the invitation as a guest.
Two friends who had known Ella since she was little.
No business discussion.
No expectation that the child perform a speech about loving her father.
Ella helped choose the cake.
Chocolate.
Strawberries again.
She also chose the place cards.
Mine had a small purple skate drawn beside my name.
Hers had a flower.
The same crooked blue flower painted on the wooden box.
I noticed.
I didn’t comment until she asked whether I recognized it.
“I do.”
“It’s my flower.”
“Yes.”
Dinner was noisy.
One friend told a story badly and had to begin again.
Mila spilled a little water.
Ella laughed.
Nothing terrible happened.
When the cake arrived, my daughter went upstairs.
For a moment, I felt the old fear return.
Then she came down carrying a flat parcel.
Not the box.
A present.
She placed it beside me.
“Open.”
Inside was a framed drawing.
The two of us on a bench.
Purple skates beneath her feet.
A dog chasing an enormous leaf in the background.
I remembered the afternoon.
She watched my face.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
She smiled.
Then she reached for a strawberry.
Later, after the guests left, I found her in the sitting room.
The wooden box was open on the table.
She had added some birthday money from Mila to the notes inside.
She counted once.
Wrote the amount.
Closed the lid.
I sat nearby.
“What are you saving for now?”
She considered.
