The day of the party dawned beautiful, with that warm sun that in Querétaro makes everything seem kinder. I got up early to bake the cake. By noon, our apartment was decorated with pink and purple streamers. I made the “Happy Birthday” sign myself. Lía’s purple dress was new, something rare in our house, because we almost always bought everything on sale or secondhand.
When she saw the decorated living room, her eyes opened wide.
“It is the best party in the world,” she said.
“It has not even started yet,” Marcos replied, smiling.
“It does not matter. It already is the best.”
The guests arrived on time. There was laughter, games, sweets, races through the living room, and excited shrieks. But every few minutes, Lía looked toward the door.
At 2:30, there was no message from my parents.
At 3:00, we cut the cake without them.
At 3:30, the other families began to leave.
And when the door closed behind the last guest, my daughter stayed sitting on the couch, her purple dress wrinkled, her eyes red, and her hands resting on her legs.
“They forgot my birthday,” she whispered.
“No, my love, surely something happened…”
“They forgot,” she repeated, and then she cried. “I think they do not love me.”
That night, after putting her to bed, Marcos paced through the kitchen with his jaw clenched.
“That little girl waited by the window for two hours,” he told me. “She asked me if she had done something wrong.”
I could not defend my parents. Not anymore.
At 8:47 that night, my phone rang. It was my father.
And I still did not know that call was going to destroy everything I had believed about my family.
PART 2
I answered before the second ring.
“Dad, where were you? Today was Lía’s party. We waited for you all afternoon.”
On the other end I could hear glasses clinking, laughter, soft music, and several voices talking at once.
“Oh, was that today?” he said with a lightness that froze my blood. “Your mother and I came to see your brother Daniel in Monterrey. He had been insisting for a while.”
I was speechless for a few seconds.
