Chapter 1

"Willa, sweetie," I said gently from the counter. "Let's light the candles."

"Daddy said six," Willa muttered, not stopping her scales.

Willa sat on the piano bench in her blue party dress, practicing her recital piece.

She hit a wrong key on the high C, bit her lip, and restarted from the beginning.

"Mommy, Daddy said he wanted to hear my song first."

Beside her, a slice of vanilla cake had already been neatly cut.

She wanted to save the prettiest slice for her father.

"Traffic is bad when it rains," I offered softly.

"Yeah," Willa said quickly, her small fingers moving over the keys again. "Maybe the rain made all the cars go really, really slow."

My phone buzzed on the counter with a text from Dashiell Croft:

[Camilla called. Maren isn't feeling well, so I'm taking them home. I'll be there in ten—don't cut the cake without me, honey.]

I squeezed my eyes shut, a cold weight settling in my chest.

Camilla Thorne had grown up next door to Dashiell.

After her husband died the previous year, Dashiell began answering every single call from her.

He always said the same thing: Camilla was an old friend, and Maren was only a child who needed help.

At seven-twenty, the front door opened.

Willa jumped up from the piano bench, smoothing her blue dress as Dashiell hurried into the foyer.

"Daddy—"

Before she could reach him, Dashiell held the front door open behind him.

Camilla stepped inside, holding six-year-old Maren by the hand.

Maren was still wearing a pink party crown and carrying a half-melted ice cream cone.

Maren was practically bouncing with excitement. She didn't look sick at all.

"Uncle Dashiell, can we see the fireworks now?" Maren asked eagerly.

"Absolutely," Dashiell told her.

Camilla gave me an apologetic smile.

"I hope you don't mind, Iris. Maren saw the fireworks being set up from the car and got excited. We'll only stay for a few minutes."

Maren finally noticed Willa standing beside the piano.

"Is it your birthday too, Willa?" she asked.

Willa looked at Maren's party crown. "It's my birthday today."

"Mine is today too," Maren said. "Uncle Dashiell said I could wear my crown again."

Camilla touched Maren's shoulder. "Baby, what do you say to Willa?"

"Happy birthday," Maren said quickly. Then she looked back at Dashiell. "Can we go outside now?"

Willa's hands curled into the sides of her dress. "Daddy, do you want to hear my song first?"

I walked up to Dashiell, pulled him aside, and said, "I thought you were taking them home."

Dashiell gave me a tired smile, as if I were making a problem out of nothing.

"I was. But Maren heard about the fireworks and begged to watch from our balcony."

"This is Willa's birthday, Dashiell. Wasn't it supposed to be just the three of us this time?"

"I know. Ten minutes, Iris," he said smoothly. "Then they'll leave, and I'll spend the rest of the night with Willa."

I looked at the cake that had been waiting for over an hour.

"Willa shouldn't have to keep lending you ten minutes at a time."

Dashiell sighed and crouched in front of Willa.

"You can give Daddy ten more minutes, can't you, sweetie?"

Willa looked at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

"And then you'll hear my whole song?"

"Yes, I will," Dashiell promised.

Willa glanced at Maren's crown, then gave a tiny, reluctant nod.

Camilla's smile tightened. She stepped toward me. "Iris, I hope you don't mind."

I said nothing.

Dashiell glanced at the empty space beside Willa's cake.

"I know I haven't given you your present yet. But tomorrow, I'll take you out and let you choose the prettiest bag in the whole store. Remember Promise #100?"

Willa touched the folded slip in her dress pocket.

Promise #100. A beautiful bag.

"Really?" Willa asked.

"Yes, baby," he promised.

Dashiell smiled, patted her head, and walked toward the balcony with Camilla and Maren.

At eight o'clock, a loud thud boomed outside.

Willa walked over to the living room window.

Across the river, brilliant golden fireworks exploded into the dark sky.

A giant digital billboard flickered to life, displaying a photograph of Dashiell holding Maren in his arms.

HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY TO OUR PRINCESS, MAREN! LOVE, UNCLE DASHIELL.

Out on the balcony, Dashiell lifted Maren into his arms so she could see.

Camilla stood beside them, recording the fireworks on her phone.

Neither of them looked back into the dark living room at Willa.

Willa pressed her small nose against the cold glass.

"Mom," Willa whispered softly. "That says Maren."

I wrapped my arms around her from behind. "I know, baby."

Willa blinked quickly. Tears gathered along her lower lashes.

Another firework burst above the river, then another.

"Maybe mine comes after hers, Mommy," Willa whispered.

My chest tightened into a hard, painful knot.

Willa kept her eyes fixed on the sky. She was afraid that if she looked away, she might miss the moment her own name appeared.

Then the sky went completely black and the last trails of smoke faded away.

Willa's name had never appeared.

Willa reached into her pocket to pull out Promise #99.

Dashiell's handwriting ran neatly across the green slip: Daddy will be home at six and listen to your song before we cut the cake.

Willa tore the green slip once down the middle.

The sharp ripping sound made her flinch.