January became February became March.
Daniel turned six in March. Not five — six, which felt like a different number, a number with less of the baby left in it. He was tall now, suddenly, the way children grew when you weren't tracking the increments but only the gaps: she'd taken out his summer things from the previous year and held them up and said to no one in particular, when did that happen.
The birthday was different from the fifth. Not smaller — fuller, in the specific way of things that had accumulated enough that they didn't need to announce themselves. Helena was there, fully recovered, with a cake that was a geological specimen this time rather than a ship — Daniel had submitted a request, apparently, through the appropriate channel, which was Helena herself. Tomás and Bianca
