The day comes. Elena’s opening presents, all eyes on her. Everyone’s smiling, clapping, telling her how grown up she looks now that she’s ten. I’m just standing there, quiet, lost in the crowd like some kid invited to someone else’s party.
I keep waiting for someone, anyone, to say something. To ask why only Elena’s wearing a crown. Why only Elena’s tearing into wrapping paper like she owns the day.
A couple of the gifts have my name on them, but no one’s watching to see my reaction. Not when Elena’s squealing and making clever little comments after every gift she opens. She’s got a mountain of presents, way more than me, and when I ask about it, someone says, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you’d share with Elena. Isn’t it the same thing?”
No. It’s not the same thing. Because those gifts
