Blood Is Not a Shackle

Synopsis

On my birthday, Adrian and our son stayed out late keeping his first love company. I called several times, but it was my son, Lucas, who finally answered. "God, you're so annoying! We're eating. Stop calling!" It was past midnight when Adrian and Lucas finally returned to our home on Chicago's North Shore, carrying a mango buttercream cake. Adrian looked completely exasperated. "What's with the attitude? I got you a cake, didn't I?" I gave a silent, humorless smile. They had forgotten. I was severely allergic to mangoes.