My husband was working on his birthday, so I surprised him at the fire station with cake and balloons — no one smiled when I walked in, and his captain asked, “You don’t know yet?”
I had learned my lesson about fitting twelve balloons into a car.
When I walked through the bay doors, Captain Holloway saw me first.
He smiled.
“Birthday delivery?”
“Where is my husband?”
He pointed toward the training room.
“He’s exactly where he told you he’d be.”
I looked through the glass.
Garrett was sitting on the floor surrounded by a group of elementary school children, showing them how to crawl beneath smoke.
Calvin was there too, now fifteen and volunteering with the youth program.
Garrett looked up and spotted me.
His whole face changed.
He came through the door, saw the cake, and laughed.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“This again?”
“Absolutely.”
Then Captain Holloway started singing “Happy Birthday” loudly and badly, and half the station joined in.
This time, Garrett didn’t look embarrassed.
He just put one arm around me.
A year earlier, I had walked into that same fire station carrying a birthday cake and discovered that nearly everything I thought I knew about my husband’s life had changed.
I had believed the worst part was learning that Garrett had lied to me for seven weeks.
It wasn’t.
The worst part was realizing he had been falling apart right beside me and had somehow convinced himself that I would rather have a fearless firefighter than an honest husband.
I couldn’t change what happened inside that burning building.
Neither could Garrett.
But he no longer leaves our house pretending to be someone he isn’t.
And every year on his birthday, I still buy the same chocolate cake.
Now I always know where I’m taking it.
