The Forgotten Birthday Card
Susan Williams came home in a right state.
“Hello, love! Fancy some dinner?” her husband, Robert, greeted her cheerfully in the hallway.
“Did *you* cook? Since when do you step foot in the kitchen?” she asked, surprised.
“Well, it’s your birthday—thought you shouldn’t have to cook today,” he said with a grin.
Susan slumped onto the bench in the corridor and, out of nowhere, burst into tears.
“Susan, what’s wrong?” Robert panicked.
“She didn’t say anything… Not even a word…” she whispered between sobs.
“Who? What are you on about?” Robert was lost. He couldn’t figure out why his wife was crying on what should’ve been a happy day.
Susan had woken up in a foul mood. She’d turned 60 that day. They’d decided against a big celebration—just something low-key. But at work, there’d still been the usual fuss: a spread of food, endless toasts, forced smiles. She’d been drained by it all and just wanted to be home, where it was quiet.
Later that evening, her sister called.
“So, did you have a nice day?” she asked.
“Yeah, fine. Work did the usual. Robert got me flowers and a holiday voucher—we’ll go somewhere nice in summer,” Susan replied flatly.
“Oh, brilliant! At our age, we deserve a treat. And the kids? Is James still on that offshore job?”
“Yeah, another month to go. He rang this morning, sent a potted orchid later—lovely, actually.”
“And Emily? She’s just down the road, isn’t she? Did she pop in?”
“Didn’t even text…” Susan sighed bitterly. “After everything we’ve done for them, and she couldn’t even send a card.”
“You’re joking!” her sister huffed. “I’ve got two daughters-in-law, and neither would pull that. Nothing at all?”
Just before 11, Susan’s phone pinged. A message. A generic e-card, copied straight off the internet—”Happy Birthday!”—without a single personal word. No call. No effort. Just a forwarded picture.
“That’s her idea of caring,” Susan muttered to Robert before bed. “Quick to forget they’re living in *our* old flat—handed it over without a second thought.”
“Don’t get worked up. It’s just how young people do things now—send a pic, hit ‘like,’ job done,” Robert tried to soothe her.
“No, Robert. It’s *not* how things should be. It’s disrespectful. A milestone isn’t just another date. It means something. And little things like this? They say a lot.”
Next morning, Susan was still stewing. The resentment had only grown. She replayed yesterday over and over, picking at every detail until she was in tears again. Robert saw it but didn’t know how to fix it. He even called their son.
“Mum’s upset again,” James sighed when he answered. “Is this about Emily?”
“I’m not upset. Just disappointed. She lives five minutes away and couldn’t be bothered to call,” Susan snapped, grabbing the phone. “Tell your wife I won’t forget this. Or today.”
“Mum, come on—she’s probably shattered. You know how work gets.”
“Oh, please!” Susan scoffed. “She had time to send that tacky e-card but not two proper words? Convenient, isn’t it?”
Later, James did bring it up with Emily.
“I *completely* forgot,” she admitted. “Work was chaos, and by the time I got home, I was dead on my feet. Sent that just so there was *something*. Thought I’d drop by with a proper gift at the weekend.”
“Well, too late now,” James muttered. “Mum’s proper hurt. And she’ll hold onto it.”
Come Saturday, Emily was swamped with work. Sunday? She needed a rest. By evening, she finally remembered.
“Oh well,” she shrugged. “Next time. Not the end of the world.”
But Susan wasn’t having it.
“Don’t bother with your half-hearted visits now,” she said coldly when James mentioned it. “A day late and a dollar short. Too late.”
“So… you don’t want us coming?”
“No,” Susan cut in. “I don’t need people who turn up out of guilt. I want respect. And if that’s too much, don’t pretend.”
Emily didn’t think she’d done anything awful, but she knew Susan well enough to tread carefully. So when their wedding anniversary rolled around, she insisted on going with a gift.
“We’ll say we wanted to celebrate together, so I waited for you,” she told James, winking. “Gotta smooth things over.”
Susan answered the door.
“Well, look who remembered,” she said dryly. “Managed to find the time for our anniversary.”
“Mum, give it a rest,” James sighed. “We *do* care. Life just gets busy.”
Emily smiled, helped set the table, cleared up after, kept the chat light and warm. Then, casually, she added:
“Oh, we’re thinking of redoing the hallway—new wallpaper and all. You’ve got such good taste, maybe you could help us pick some?”
“Of course I will!” Susan beamed.
Walking home, James frowned.
“Since when are we redecorating?”
“We’re not,” Emily chuckled. “But if your mum feels needed, she might get over it.”
And she did. Within a week, Susan was bragging to the neighbours about how the kids relied on her eye for decor. The sting had faded.
…Until next time.
