I’ve been thinking about what happened all week. Last weekend, my daughter, Lily, turned eight, and it should have been a happy day. But things didn’t go as planned. They went worse. Much worse.

Six months ago, we lost her dad. A terrible accident. Since then, it’s just been the two of us, trying to get through each day without breaking down. I wanted her birthday to be a bright spot in a hard year, something she could smile about again.

I planned a party at home with her friends—nothing fancy, just cupcakes, games, a magician, and a bouncy castle in the backyard. It was meant to be small but full of love.

But there was a problem.

Chloe is in Lily’s class. She’s a nice girl, but she has rich parents. Really rich. They live in a big house, drive shiny cars, and seem to know all the right people. And wouldn’t you know it? Chloe has the same birthday as Lily.

Lily was worried about this. “Mom, what if everyone goes to Chloe’s party and doesn’t come to mine?” she asked one night as I tucked her in.

We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, sweetheart,” I reassured her. “I have an idea.”

I thought the best solution was a joint party. It made sense. They share the same friends, so why make people choose? I imagined the girls having a fun day together, laughing with their friends, without either feeling left out. Simple, right?

Well, I was wrong.

I decided to talk to Chloe’s mom after school one day. She pulled up in her sleek black SUV, looking perfect in her designer coat. I walked up to her, trying to stay cheerful.

“Hi, I wanted to talk to you about Chloe and Lily’s birthdays,” I started. “I thought maybe we could have a joint party. That way, all the kids can come, and neither girl will be left out.”

She looked at me like I had asked her to hold a party in the middle of a landfill.