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It’s the kind of smile people wear when they have been cornered politely.

Candace steps closer to me, her voice low. “That’s awful.”

“It’s generous,” I say.

She looks at me. “That’s why it’s awful.”

Because Alester has not embarrassed her by accident. He has honored her in public, in his house, in front of his people, without asking whether she wanted any of it. If she looks uncomfortable, she is ungrateful. If she leaves, she is rude. If she stays, he gets exactly what he arranged: Maggie, placed neatly inside the Chandler room.

She blows out the candles. Everyone claps again.

Her eyes find mine across the room. For half a second, she lets the smile slip.

That’s enough. I put my glass down and walk toward her.

I didn’t know it was her birthday. That’s the part my mind chooses first, before the candles, before the guests, before Alester standing there with his glass raised like he has done something thoughtful.

I know too many things about Maggie Hanes.

I know she hates being asked if she’s fine when she is obviously not. I know she pretends crackers count as a meal when she’s stressed. I know she makes jokes faster when she’s cornered. I know she checks the exits in rooms like this. I know the exact look she gets before nausea overtakes pride.

I know the dates on her medical file.

I know the timing of her insemination.

I know the possible window in which I may have changed everything.

But I didn’t know her birthday. Even worse, I probably saw it in her file and skipped over it. Worse, it should not have been Alester who knew first.

Maggie is still smiling because the room expects her to. The cake is in front of her. The candles have just gone out. People are clapping with the pleasant, empty enthusiasm of guests who are glad not to be the center of attention.

I’m almost close enough to reach her when Alester speaks again. “One more thing,” he says.

The room settles at once.

Maggie’s smile doesn’t fall immediately, but I see her eyes shift.

No.

I know before he says it. Not the exact words, but the fact of it. Alester is not done. The birthday was not the point, or not the whole point.

Alester looks toward Maggie, then out at the room.

Maggie looks at me. Only for a second. Not enough for anyone else to notice, probably, but enough for me to see the question in her face.

Did you know?

I shake my head once.

No.

Her smile shifts. Not falling apart, not yet, but losing some of the shape she has been forcing into place.

Alester continues, calm and smooth as ever. “I don’t usually make a point of marking personal occasions publicly, but Petra reminded me that some milestones should be acknowledged.”

A few people laugh politely. Maggie does not.

Alester turns slightly toward Maggie. “So first,” he says, “happy birthday, Maggie.”