Helen turned off the stove and covered the pancakes with a towel. The air smelled sweet and wrong, like a celebration gone stale. That night, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Maybe Lisa really was busy. Maybe she’d call tomorrow. But deep down, a small voice whispered the thought she didn’t want to name, that this wasn’t about busyness at all.
It was about being forgotten. The days after Jake’s birthday passed in strange silence. Helen tried to fill them with little things, watering her plants, folding the same load of laundry twice, setting the table though no one was coming. She told herself Lisa must be busy, that the kids probably had after-school programs.