On my daughter’s eighth birthday, my parents gave a pink dress to her. She looked happy—until she suddenly went still. “Mom… what’s this?” I leaned in, and my hands began to tremble. There was something inside the lining—something placed t
Allison Lewis
Feb 1, 2026
On my daughter’s eighth birthday, I wanted everything to feel light and joyful. I wanted the kind of happiness that didn’t ask questions or carry shadows. I wanted crookedly taped balloons over the kitchen doorway, pancakes shaped like hearts, sticky fingers, laughter that bounced off the walls. I wanted a morning that felt normal, safe, and uncomplicated. Emma had been through too much. The past year had weighed on her in ways no child should ever have to bear. She’d overheard too many tense conversations, absorbed too many careful explanations
