“You're really mad? Last night I was just anxious, worried Selma would take it the wrong way.”
“Since she trusts you, I won't hold it against you.”
“To make it up to you.”
“It's your birthday tomorrow. Same as always—I'll spend it with Selma first, then come find you.”
Selma and I share the same birthday, and every year he runs between us like he's working a double shift.
When I wouldn't let him in, he'd stand downstairs with a cake like an idiot, drawing every neighbor to their windows.
It mortified Selma. It mortified me too.
After enough years, I just stopped fighting it.
“No need. I have plans.”
I had no interest in arguing, but his long arm shot out across my path without warning.
“This is your last chance, so make it count. Once Selma and I are married, it's over.”
“Selma doesn't mind, but I have to keep some self-respect as a man.”
“Spending a birthday with another woman isn't right—not even if you're my buddy.”
So he knew it wasn't right.
Yet in my last life, after we married, no matter how good he was to me the rest of the year, on this one day he always flew to whatever city Selma might be in.
Just for the chance to spend her birthday with her.
Our first child died because he wasn't there, because we didn't get to the hospital in time.
And I never made a scene about it, because I blamed myself.
“Suit yourself!”
I knew he would never let it go unless I agreed.
But I wasn't going to live through a birthday like that a third time.
When I was carrying our second child, he stayed by my side.
I thought he'd finally let Selma go—then that day he got word that she had died.
The cake hit the floor hard, and the shards of glass sliced open my cheek.
After that, there was never another smile between us.
He walked out satisfied, and I paid the extra fare and booked my flight for tomorrow.
With everything ready, I grabbed a quick meal with a few of my closer coworkers and headed straight for the airport.
Spencer hadn't come into the office today. They said he was setting up Selma's birthday venue himself.
But none of that had anything to do with me anymore.
Just as I was about to enter the departures terminal, he called.
“I'm at your door. Why are the lights off?”
“Selma mentioned today that you're going to the United States?”
“Quit lying, would you? Trying to bait me again?”
“I really am leaving.”
He started to argue, but the boarding announcement reached his ear.
His voice broke apart in an instant:
“Frieda, you're leaving?”
“Stop this, just because I said a few harsh things?”
Before I could answer, a deafening screech of tires tore across the ground behind me.
Metal slammed into metal. Glass shattered.
The crash split Spencer's head with sudden pain, countless broken images forcing their way into his mind.
From the dropped phone came the man's frantic, unhinged screaming:
“Frieda!”
“Frieda, what's happening?”
“Say something!”
