Most of the time, we managed.
Birthdays were harder.
Tyler always pretended his didn’t matter.
“It’s just another day,” he’d say whenever I tried to make plans.
I knew better.
He wasn’t someone who wanted a huge party or a room full of people singing to him.
He hated being the center of attention.
But he loved small things.
His favorite meal.
A handwritten card.
A cake from the bakery he had been obsessed with since before we met.
He noticed the effort, even when he acted embarrassed by it.
This year, I decided I wasn’t doing the usual routine anymore.
His birthday fell right in the middle of a 24-hour shift, so I planned a surprise instead: I picked up a dozen balloons and a small cake from his favorite bakery, then drove straight to the station during what I knew was their downtime between calls.
I kept the plan to myself.
