t was my son Michael’s birthday party. They had invited the whole family, and I arrived with my homemade chocolate cake, the one my granddaughter Monica loves so much. I expected to see her running toward me as always, her golden braids dancing in the air, shouting, “Grandma Emily!” with that sweet voice that lights up my soul. But when I walked into the living room, the girl was sitting in a corner with her head down, wearing a pink baseball cap that was enormously too big for her.