I stood outside the house, looking through the window, taking in the cozy dining room.John, my husband who'd supposedly died two years ago, was sitting in front of a birthday cake. Adaline, my dear friend who claimed she'd gone abroad for work, placed a birthday hat on him.Greta Parker, my mother-in-law, and Henry Foster, my own son, who'd repeatedly left on trips without me the last few years, were now clapping their hands and singing the birthday song.They looked like such a warm and loving family of four, while I stood outside in the summer night breeze, feeling chilled to the bone.For the last two years, I'd dreamed of such a scene every night. Yet it was now right before me, mocking me cruelly.John clasped his hands together and closed his eyes to make a wish. "I wish for our family to always be safe and happy, and I hope we will never be separated."That was the last straw that broke me.My birthday had turned into his death anniversary. And on his birthdays, I would
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