She Said: “Mom, You’re Turning 70. We Want To Celebrate You.” I Booked The Flight. Landed At LAX. THEN I REALIZED…

The silence had become a companion—familiar, mostly bearable. But this. An invitation.

A party for me. I opened my laptop and searched for flights. Found one for $340.

Round trip. Not cheap, but I still had some of Robert’s life insurance set aside. I clicked purchase before I could talk myself out of it.

The next day, I went to Dillard’s. I tried on four dresses before settling on the navy one. It had a modest neckline, fell just below the knee, made me look like someone worth celebrating.

The saleswoman said, “Special occasion?”
And I said, “My daughter’s throwing me a birthday party.”
Saying it out loud made it feel real. I bought new shoes, too—low heels, comfortable but elegant—and a small clutch purse, because my everyday bag, a worn canvas tote, didn’t match. That week, I got my hair done.

Martha, who’d been cutting my hair for fifteen years, noticed. “You look excited,” she said. “My daughter invited me to California for my birthday.”
“That’s wonderful, Dorothy.

You deserve it.”

I called Jessica three days before the flight. Just to confirm. She didn’t pick up.

I left a voicemail. “Hi, honey. Just wanted to make sure we’re still on for Saturday.

My flight lands at 2:30. Let me know if that works.”

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