"I told the club we'd deliver the chair, hand you the letter, and leave if you wanted us gone."
I looked toward the black case visible through the kitchen doorway.
"You could have warned me the box looked like that."
For the first time, Ray's mouth twitched.
"That part was a mistake."
Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped me.
"A mistake?"
"Lena told me it looked like a coffin."
"And you still carried it into a child's birthday?"
"We added stars."
I stared at him. Then another laugh came, half hysterical and half genuine. Ray rubbed the back of his neck.
"In my defense, it looks less terrible open."
Michael made a sound that might have been a laugh before remembering I was furious with him. I pointed at him without looking.
"Don't."
"Right."
The absurdity gave me enough room to breathe. Then my attention returned to the envelope.
"I need to read this."
Ray nodded.
"You want privacy?"
I looked through the doorway at Maisie, surrounded by children admiring her chair.
"No."
I wiped my face.
"Daniel wrote it for this day. I think I should read it where he meant it to arrive."
We returned to the hall. The parents sensed something had happened in the kitchen because our faces looked different. Nobody asked questions. Maisie rolled toward me in her new chair.
The purple lights made a soft halo around the wheels.
"Mommy, look."
She made a careful turn.
"I can do the circle without getting stuck."
I smiled through tears. "I see." Her eyes moved to the envelope.
"Are you going to read Daddy's letter?"
I crouched beside her.