Chapter 2
The thudding had stopped. That was worse than the thudding.
My hand was still on that brass knob and it wouldn't turn. The door didn't rattle. It just stayed locked, solid and white with that pink tinsel shivering a little every time the air moved. I could hear my daughter breathing on the other side, quick and small, and then I heard my wife step closer behind me.
She didn't raise her voice. She leaned in, close enough that I smelled her perfume over the sugar and balloons, and whispered, "She was disrespectful. She ruined the cake setup. I told her to stay away and she put her hands right in the frosting. She needed discipline."
I stared at the pink garland taped crooked along the door. The gold HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner reflected the hallway light right into my eyes.
"You're keeping her in there during her own birthday party," I said. My voice came out low and flat. I tried to keep it even. "That's not discipline. That's locking a seven-year-old in a room while her friends are out here."
My wife's mouth tightened. That look I'd seen before, the one where her jaw locked and her eyes went still, settled over her face. She glanced past me toward the living room where the pink tablecloth and the three-tier cake were waiting. The red hearts on the icing caught the light. Balloons drifted against the ceiling in clusters, pink and yellow and white, with that one red balloon tethered right above the door, bobbing gently.
"Don't make a scene," she whispered. "She has to learn actions have consequences. Five minutes and she can come out and apologize. The party has to be perfect. You know how hard I worked on this."
Five minutes. I checked the clock on the microwave visible down the hall. She'd already been in there longer than that. My daughter made a soft sound through the door, not crying, just a huff of air like she was trying not to.
"She's scared," I said. "Let me open the door and we can talk to her together. Out here. Not through wood."
My wife put her hand on my forearm, fingers digging in just enough to hold me. Her nails pressed through my sleeve. "If you open that door now, you tell every kid out there they can act however they want. You undermine me in front of everyone."
I pulled my arm back half an inch but didn't shake her off. The tiled floor was cold under my shoes. From the party area, I could hear the low murmur of parents talking, a kid giggling, someone adjusting a stack of paper plates.
"Locking her away doesn't teach respect," I said. "It teaches her to be afraid of us on her birthday."
Her eyes flicked to the door, then back to me, and for a second her lip trembled before she pressed it flat again. She didn't answer. She just held her ground between me and that knob, green wrap dress tied neat at her waist, hair falling forward like a curtain.
Then a voice carried from the living room, bright and oblivious. "Hey, are we doing cake? Kids are ready!"
Another voice chimed in, "Yeah, birthday girl should make a wish!"
My wife's whole body shifted. Her shoulders went back. Her face changed like someone flipped a switch. The tightness smoothed and she smiled, that wide, practiced smile I'd seen in that framed portrait down the hall, the one where she wore yellow and he wore red and everything looked perfect.
She turned slightly toward the party and called out, clear and warm, "Almost ready! Just getting the candles!"
She looked at me and her smile dropped just for me, eyes hard. She tugged at my elbow, not hard, but insistent. "Come on. We go out there, we sing, we cut cake. She comes out after. No one has to know."
I didn't move at first. My palm was still on the door, feeling the faint vibration of my daughter shifting on the other side. I could have stepped around my wife. I could have demanded the key. I could have knocked and told my daughter I was right here. All of it ran through my head in half a second.
Instead I let my hand slide off the brass knob. The metal was warm from my grip.
May you like
My wife was already stepping back toward the bright room, her hand still light on my arm, pulling me with her. The red balloon swayed above us as we moved.
I followed her three steps down the hall toward the cake and the balloons and the waiting guests, and the white door stayed closed behind us, the pink tinsel perfectly still again.
