“On My 62nd Birthday, A Stranger Bought Me Dessert With A Candle. I Woke Up Alone To A Photograph Of Myself Asleep, And A Note: ‘Forgive Me For What I Did Afterward.’ Then I Found My Safe Empty, And A Second Photograph On My Table: The Stranger Standing Beside My Own Son. On The Back: ‘Your Son Arranged All Of This.’”

The screen was empty. One hour passed, then another. Lunchtime came, and still no one had remembered. My daughter was busy with her own family, my son lived in another city, and after my husband died I’d almost completely stopped seeing friends. I sat alone in the kitchen in front of a small cake I’d bought for myself the day before, and suddenly continue reading …