“I already know you can save, but I choose to do this for my son. Let me.”
He smiled. “Okay, Mom.”
We went home without the guitar, but happy.
The next afternoon, someone knocked on our door.
I was folding laundry, and Ethan was upstairs.
When I opened the door, no one was there.
There was only a white cake box sitting on the porch.
A note was propped against it.
“Happy birthday, kid. You earned it. Cut a slice.”
I stared at it, and then I called Ethan.
He came running downstairs. “What happened?”
I pointed at the cake.
“Is that for me?”
“Apparently.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know.”
We brought it inside.
I checked the box.
It came from a bakery downtown.
Nothing looked suspicious.
Still, I was uneasy.
I called the bakery.
They confirmed the cake had been ordered and paid for.
So, we cut into the cake, ready to enjoy it.
