The envelope arrived in the morning mail, slipped discreetly between catalogues and a medical bill Isabelle had already paid online. It was the kind of envelope that didn’t belong in ordinary life — too thick, too heavy, too serious.
Sebastian had placed it on the island next to her coffee mug, unopened. Just a glance at the gold-embossed initials on the back — CB — had been enough for him to guess where it came from.
Now, with the twins mid-argument over whether oatmeal should have raisins and Sophia wandering in still half-zipped from the cold, Isabelle peeled the flap open slowly.
The paper inside was weighty and smooth. Formal type. Unmistakable.
Celeste Bennett cordially invites you to celebrate her sixtieth birthday at the Grand Belvoir Hotel, Saturday, 7 PM. Black tie. Adults on
