The next day, Eleanor called Michael and mentioned her birthday. He sounded distracted, consulting Lauren in the background. At first, he listed reasons they were busy, but eventually agreed they could stop by briefly. Eleanor accepted eagerly, even when he said it didn’t need to be anything special.
After the call, she felt a spark of excitement she hadn’t felt in years. She cooked Michael’s childhood favorites, scrubbed the house spotless, visited the salon, and bought a soft blue blouse Thomas once loved. For once, she felt seen.
On her birthday afternoon, the car arrived exactly at two. Michael hugged her stiffly. Lauren offered a thin smile. The grandchildren barely acknowledged her. Conversation stayed shallow and polite.
Eleanor tried anyway—serving food, asking about school, realizing how little she knew about their lives. The visit felt rushed, controlled by Lauren’s schedule and Michael’s constant glances at the clock.
When it was time for gifts, Lauren handed Eleanor a neatly wrapped box. Inside was nothing. As Eleanor stared, confused, laughter broke out. Michael called it a joke—an empty box for an empty woman.