My dad worked long hours.
Anna was the one who was always there.
She knew I hated sandwich crusts and removed them without asking.
She sat beside me whenever I was sick.
When I was six, I became convinced there was a raccoon hiding beneath my bed. Anna got down on her hands and knees with a flashlight and checked underneath it every night for two weeks until I finally believed her that it was gone.
She never missed a school performance.
Not even the terrible one where my only role was “Tree Number Three.”
She sat in the front row and applauded like I’d won an award.
And she never missed my birthday.
Until I turned thirteen.
That year, Anna promised me two things.
My favorite chocolate cake—the one she always made from scratch.
And a surprise she said I would understand when I was older.
At thirteen, my imagination went crazy.
Maybe it was a puppy.
Maybe a trip.
For a few ridiculous minutes, I even imagined she might somehow give me a car.
Whatever it was, I knew it would be special.
Anna had never disappointed me before.
I waited by the window all evening.
