I’ve been thinking about what happened all week.

Last weekend was supposed to be a joyful occasion—my daughter Lily’s eighth birthday.

But things went terribly wrong.

Six months ago, we lost her dad in a tragic accident.

Since then, it’s just been the two of us, trying to get through each day without falling apart. I wanted her birthday to be a special moment in a tough year, something that would bring a smile to her face again.

I planned a simple party at home for Lily, with cupcakes, games, a magician, and a bouncy castle in the backyard. It was meant to be small but full of love.

But then there was a problem.

Chloe.

Chloe is in Lily’s class. She’s a nice girl, but her parents are extremely wealthy. They live in a huge house, drive fancy cars, and seem to know everyone important. As it turns out, Chloe shares the same birthday as Lily.

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

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

I thought the best solution would be to have a joint party. It made sense since they share the same friends—why make people choose? I imagined the girls having a fun day together, laughing with their friends, without anyone feeling left out. It seemed like a simple solution.

Well, I was wrong.

I decided to talk to Chloe’s mom after school one day. She arrived in her sleek black SUV, dressed perfectly in a designer coat. I approached her, trying to stay positive.

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

She looked at me as if I had suggested hosting the party in the middle of a landfill.