Burden’s lost birthday
The Lost Ginny & Georgia Episode: “Burden’s Lost Birthday”
The following is unofficial, fan-created horror fiction inspired by Ginny & Georgia. It is not a real episode, deleted scene, leaked script, or official production. This story contains psychological horror, missing children, distorted memories, unsettling birthday imagery, and themes of grief and erasure.
Nobody in Wellsbury remembers Burden.
That is what makes the birthday photographs so disturbing.
I found the first one on a Ginny & Georgia fan forum that no longer exists. The post had no title, and the account that uploaded it had been deleted. It showed the Miller kitchen decorated for a child’s birthday.
Blue and yellow streamers hung from the ceiling. A homemade cake sat on the table. Georgia stood behind it with one hand resting on Austin’s shoulder. Ginny was beside them, looking toward someone outside the frame.
At first, it seemed like an ordinary production photograph.
Then I noticed the cake.
It had eleven candles.
Written across the icing were the words:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BURDEN
No character in Ginny & Georgia is named Burden.
At least, there should not be.
The comments beneath the photograph were confused. Some people assumed it came from another show. Others thought “Burden” was a production nickname, a mistranslation, or an elaborate fan edit.
One user claimed to remember Burden.
Their comment read:
He lived with the Millers before Wellsbury. Georgia said he was family, but Ginny never called him her brother. His birthday episode was removed because everyone remembered the same scene differently.
The comment disappeared as I read it.
A few minutes later, the entire forum went offline.
I saved the photograph before the page vanished.
That night, a video file appeared in my downloads folder.
I had not downloaded it.
The filename was:
GNG_BURDEN_BDAY_FINAL_REMEMBER_THIS_TIME.mp4
The running time was one hour, eleven minutes, and eleven seconds.
The thumbnail showed the Miller family gathered around the birthday cake.
A fourth child stood between Ginny and Austin.
Someone had scratched away his face.
The Opening Scene
The episode began with a black screen and the sound of children singing “Happy Birthday.”
They sang slowly and without enthusiasm. Too many voices for the size of the room.
After the final line, a child blew out the candles.
The screen remained dark.
Georgia’s voice said, “Okay, everybody, open your eyes.”
The Miller kitchen appeared.
Georgia stood beside the cake, smiling brightly. Ginny, Austin, Maxine, Abby, Norah, Marcus, Ellen, Joe, Paul, and Zion crowded around the table.
Every character wore a paper birthday hat.
A banner stretched across the wall:
HAPPY 11TH BIRTHDAY, BURDEN
An empty chair sat at the head of the table.
Georgia looked toward it.
“Well?” she asked. “Make a wish.”
No one was sitting there.
The candles went out anyway.
Everyone applauded.
Ginny did not.
She stared at the empty chair, frightened.
The title card appeared:
BURDEN’S LOST BIRTHDAY
Underneath, smaller lettering slowly faded into view:
A celebration postponed indefinitely
Georgia’s Birthday Rules
The next scene took place earlier that morning.
Georgia moved through the kitchen, decorating with unusual intensity. She measured the space between every streamer and rearranged the plates until they formed a perfect circle.
Austin watched from the table.
“Who’s Burden?” he asked.
Georgia stopped.
The cheerful music cut out.
She turned toward him slowly.
“Very funny.”
Austin said he was not joking.
Georgia crouched beside him.
“Your brother’s birthday isn’t the day to pretend he doesn’t exist.”
Austin looked toward Ginny for help.
Ginny stood in the doorway, pale and silent.
Georgia asked whether she had bought Burden a gift.
Ginny replied, “Mom, we don’t have a brother named Burden.”
A balloon burst somewhere upstairs.
Georgia flinched.
Then she laughed.
“Okay. Joke’s over.”
Ginny insisted she was serious.
Georgia’s smile remained, but her eyes filled with panic.
She grabbed an old family calendar from a drawer and opened it to October.
The fifteenth was circled in red.
Inside the circle, Georgia had written:
BURDEN — 11
Below it were the rules:
Everyone must attend.
No one may leave before the candles are out.
The birthday child chooses the first memory.
Do not ask what happened at the ninth birthday.
If Burden is absent, continue as though he is present.
Austin read the final rule aloud.
Georgia snatched the calendar away.
Ginny asked who had written it.
Georgia stared at her own handwriting.
“I did.”
The Fourth Bedroom
The Miller house had always appeared to contain three main bedrooms.
In this episode, another door stood at the end of the upstairs hallway.
It stood between Ginny’s room and the bathroom, even though there wasn’t enough physical space for a room behind it.
A wooden letter B hung from the doorknob.
Ginny approached carefully.
Georgia called from downstairs, telling her not to disturb Burden before the party.
Ginny opened the door.
The bedroom was small and windowless.
Birthday photographs covered the walls.
Every photograph showed Burden at a different age.
On his first birthday, Georgia held him beside baby Ginny.
At age three, he sat in Zion’s lap.
At age five, he stood beside a much younger Austin, even though Austin should not yet have been born.
At age seven, Joe appeared in the background, despite having no contact with the Millers at the time.
At age nine, everyone in the photograph looked terrified.They had cut
Burden’s face out of every picture.
His body remained, but only a dark hole appeared above his shoulders.
Ginny removed one photograph from the wall.
Written on the back was:
If you cannot remember his face, he is already looking through yours.
She dropped it.
Something shifted beneath the bed.
Ginny knelt and looked underneath.
A child lay flat against the floorboards.
His head faced away from her.
He wore a blue birthday shirt with the number eleven across the back.
“Burden?” Ginny whispered.
The child slowly turned his head.
The camera cut away before his face became visible.
The School Records
Ginny went to Wellsbury High and searched for the name Burden Miller.
The school database contained one result.
MILLER, BURDEN
AGE: 11
GRADE: UNASSIGNED
STATUS: PRESENT
The profile photograph showed Ginny.
She refreshed the page.
The photograph changed to Austin.
She refreshed it again.
Georgia appeared.
A fourth refresh produced an image of the empty birthday chair.
Below the record was a list of emergency contacts:
MOTHER: GEORGIA MILLER
SISTER: GINNY MILLER
BROTHER: AUSTIN MILLER
FATHER: NOT REMEMBERED
SECONDARY CONTACT: THE PERSON CURRENTLY READING THIS
My full name appeared on the screen.
I paused the video.
The name remained visible.
I checked the file properties, convinced it had somehow accessed my computer account. The video showed no sign of modification after it appeared in my folder.
When I resumed playback, Ginny was staring directly at the camera.
“Do you know him?” she asked.
The school computer answered with a notification:
YOU ATTENDED THE NINTH BIRTHDAY.
Ginny stepped back.
The printer beside her activated.
It produced eleven copies of the same invitation.
YOU ARE INVITED TO BURDEN MILLER’S NINTH BIRTHDAY
LOCATION: WHEREVER THE FAMILY IS LIVING
TIME: BEFORE GEORGIA LEAVES
PLEASE BRING ONE MEMORY YOU ARE WILLING TO LOSE
The final invitation was addressed to me.
Maxine Remembers the Gift
Ginny showed the invitations to Maxine, Abby, and Norah.
Maxine laughed at first. She assumed it was an elaborate prank.
Then she saw Burden’s name.
Her expression went blank.
“I bought him a red sweater,” she said.
Ginny asked what she meant.
Maxine touched her forehead as though a headache had suddenly begun.
“For his birthday. It had a little fox on it.”
Abby said Maxine had never met the Millers before Wellsbury.
“I know.”
Maxine began crying.
“But I remember him opening it.”
Norah asked what Burden looked like.
Maxine tried to answer.
Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged.
She pulled out her phone and searched through old photographs. An image appeared among pictures taken years before Ginny arrived in town.
Maxine, Abby, and Norah stood at a birthday party.
They looked much younger.
Between them was the same faceless child from the Miller photographs.
A red sweater with a fox lay across his lap.
In the background, Georgia stood beside the door, holding car keys.
On the wall behind her, someone had written:
DON’T LET HER MOVE BEFORE THE CAKE
Abby dropped the phone.
“I remember the song,” she whispered.
Norah said, “I remember hiding.”
Maxine looked at Ginny.
“I remember your mother telling us not to look at his face.”
The Ninth Birthday
The episode shifted into a damaged flashback.
Lines rolled across the screen. The color faded in and out. Dialogue played at the wrong speed.
The Miller family lived in a small apartment Ginny didn’t recognize.
Burden’s ninth birthday decorations covered the living room.
Young Ginny stood near the door with Austin in her arms. She looked older than she should have been, while Austin looked younger.
Georgia lit nine candles.
A child sat at the table.
The camera never showed his face.
Young Maxine, Abby, and Norah stood in the corner, even though there was no logical reason for them to be present.
Joe was in the kitchen.
Paul waited outside.
Zion slept on the couch.
The scene seemed to combine people from different periods of Georgia’s life.
Everyone had been brought together for one impossible birthday.
Burden asked for his present.
His voice sounded like several children speaking at slightly different times.
Georgia placed an empty box in front of him.
He opened it.
Inside was darkness.
Not an unlit interior—actual darkness, deeper than the space the box could contain.
Burden reached inside and removed a memory.
It looked like a strip of film.
On it, Georgia was running through the rain with three children.
Ginny.
Austin.
And Burden.
Georgia grabbed the film and demanded to know where he had found it.
Burden said, “You gave it to me last year.”
“I didn’t.”
“You always do.”
Georgia looked around the room.
Everyone avoided her eyes.
Burden pointed toward the birthday cake.
“It’s time to choose.”
The candles lit themselves.
Every guest placed a hand against their forehead.
One by one, they removed memories as strips of film and placed them on the table.
Maxine surrendered the memory of arriving.
Abby gave up the reason she was afraid.
Norah removed Burden’s face.
Joe surrendered the memory of meeting him.
Paul gave up the knowledge that he didn’t belong in that year.
Zion removed Burden’s father’s identity.
Ginny refused.
Burden turned toward her.
Although the camera still avoided his face, young Ginny’s reaction suggested she could see it.
“You always keep one thing,” he said.
Ginny asked what he meant.
“You keep the part that hurts.”
Georgia blew out the candles before the ritual could finish.
The apartment went dark.
Burden screamed.
The sound continued for almost a full minute.
When the lights came back on, the chair was empty.
Georgia was already packing.
She told everyone that the party had never happened.
Burden’s voice came from inside the walls:
“Then I won’t have to end.”
Georgia’s Missing Child
Back in the present, Ginny confronted Georgia.
She placed the ninth-birthday invitation on the kitchen table.
Georgia refused to look at it.
Ginny demanded to know whether Burden had been her child.
Georgia said no.
A cupboard opened behind her.
Inside were eleven boxes of birthday candles.
Ginny asked why the calendar called him her brother.
Georgia insisted that calendars could be wrong.
The refrigerator opened.
Burden’s photographs covered every shelf.
Austin entered carrying the red fox sweater.
He said he had found it inside his closet.
Georgia tore it from his hands and threw it into the fireplace.
The fabric did not burn.
The fox embroidered on the front opened its eyes.
“Mom,” it said.
Georgia struck it with a fireplace tool until it fell silent.
Ginny stared at her.
Georgia finally admitted that Burden had traveled with them for several years.
She would not say where he came from.
She said only that he appeared after one of the worst nights of her life.
Georgia had been driving with young Ginny asleep in the back seat. She was frightened, injured, and desperate to reach another town before sunrise.
She stopped at a gas station.
When she returned to the car, another child was sitting beside Ginny.
Burden looked around five years old.
Georgia asked who he was.
He answered, “The reason you kept driving.”
Georgia tried leaving him at the gas station.
Every time she pulled away, he reappeared in the back seat.
She called the police once.
By the time they arrived, Georgia could not remember why she had called.
The officer looked inside the car and said, “Your children seem fine.”
Three children sat in the back seat.
From that night onward, Burden lived with them.
People accepted him without asking questions.
Schools had records of him.
Neighbors remembered meeting him.
Documents identified Georgia as his mother.
Yet no one could explain where he had come from.
Every year, on October fifteenth, Burden had a birthday.
Every birthday required a memory.
If the family refused to celebrate, someone forgot themselves instead.
Georgia eventually realized Burden was not growing older because he was a child.
He was growing older because the family continued giving him years.
At the ninth birthday, she tried ending the ritual.
They left before the cake was finished.
By morning, everyone had forgotten him.
Everyone except Georgia.
Ginny asked why Georgia never told them.
Georgia looked toward the empty chair.
“Because forgotten things can’t follow you.”
A child laughed from upstairs.
Georgia whispered, “Usually.”
The Guests Arrive
The birthday party began at sunset.
No one remembered agreeing to attend.
Paul arrived carrying a wrapped gift. Joe brought a cake, even though an identical cake already sat on the table. Zion appeared at the front door looking confused and exhausted.
Ellen, Maxine, Abby, Norah, and Marcus entered behind him.
No one could explain how they had gotten there.
The front door disappeared after the final guest arrived.
A wall now occupied its place.
The windows showed Burden’s bedroom inside rather than the street.
Eleven places had been set around the table.
Ginny counted the guests.
There were twelve.
She counted again.
Eleven.
Every time she tried to identify the extra person, someone else vanished from her awareness.
The birthday chair remained empty.
Georgia ordered everyone to behave normally.
Maxine asked how they were supposed to act normally when the front door was gone.
Georgia replied, “We’ve all done harder things.”
The lights dimmed.
Music began playing from an old cassette recorder.
It was “Happy Birthday,” performed by children who sounded increasingly tired with every repetition.
Burden’s chair moved away from the table.
Someone invisible sat down.
The cushion sank beneath their weight.
A paper hat rose from the table and settled into the empty air above the chair.
The party had begun.
The Presents
Each guest had brought a gift without remembering buying it.
Burden opened them one by one.
The wrapping paper tore itself.
Paul’s box contained his wedding ring.
Joe’s contained a pair of sunglasses he recognized but could not explain.
Zion’s held an old photograph of Georgia.
Ellen’s contained the key to the Miller house.
Marcus’s held a page from Ginny’s notebook.
Maxine’s contained the fox sweater, undamaged by the fire.
Abby’s box was filled with mirrors.
Every reflection showed her asking for help while everyone around her continued talking.
Norah’s gift contained a birthday photograph.
She was absent from it.
Austin’s gift was the drawing from the beginning of the episode. It now showed Burden standing inside the Miller family.
Ginny opened the box with her name.
It contained a small human tooth.
She recognized it as one she had lost as a child.
A message was written beneath it:
YOU GAVE ME THE REST OF THAT DAY.
Georgia’s gift was last.
Her box was empty.
Burden’s invisible hands turned it upside down.
A child’s voice said, “You still owe me a mother.”
Burden Appears
The lights went out.
When they returned, Burden sat in the chair.
He looked like a normal eleven-year-old child.
That was somehow worse than if he had appeared monstrous.
He had dark hair, a pale face, and tired eyes. His blue birthday shirt fit him a little too tightly. The number eleven was printed across his chest.
Ginny stared at him.
She recognized him immediately.
Memories returned all at once.
Burden sleeping beside her in motel rooms.
Burden holding Austin when Georgia needed both hands free.
Burden asking why Georgia never included him in family photographs.
Burden standing alone outside a new house because no one remembered to invite him inside.
Burden crying on birthdays while Georgia packed.
Burden whispering that he did not want another year.
Ginny collapsed against the table.
Austin remembered next.
He called Burden’s name with the familiarity of someone greeting an older sibling.
Maxine remembered playing games with him.
Abby remembered him noticing when no one else did.
Norah remembered his face.
Everyone began speaking at once.
Only Georgia remained silent.
Burden looked at her.
“Say happy birthday.”
Georgia refused.
Burden asked again.
The house trembled.
Fine cracks spread across the walls. Behind the plaster were layers of birthday decorations from previous years.
Georgia stared at him.
“You’re not my son.”
The room became completely still.
Burden’s face didn’t change physically, but it changed emotionally. For the first time, he looked like an ordinary child who had just heard something unforgivable.
“I know,” he said.
Why He Was Called Burden
Ginny asked where he got his name.
Burden looked toward Georgia.
She closed her eyes.
Years earlier, the night he appeared, Georgia wasn’t alone in the car. A frightened child had approached her at the gas station and asked for help.
He would not say where his family was.
Georgia had been desperate to leave. She knew stopping could put Ginny in danger. She told the child she could not take on another burden.
Then she drove away.
Several miles later, she found him sitting in the back seat.
He had taken the only name she gave him.
Burden.
Georgia insisted that no real child could have followed them the way he did.
Burden agreed.
“The child was real,” he said. “I’m what you kept.”
He was the memory of someone Georgia had abandoned, believing survival left no room for another person.
Her guilt had entered the car and grown alongside the family.
Every birthday represented another year Georgia had refused to face what happened.
The memories at each celebration kept Burden alive while letting everyone else forget why.
Ginny looked at Georgia with tears in her eyes.
“What happened to the real boy?”
Georgia said she did not know.
Burden smiled sadly.
“That’s why I can’t leave.”
The Birthday Wish
Joe placed the cake in front of Burden.
Eleven candles lit themselves.
The house filled with the smell of smoke and wet pavement.
Burden explained that the eleventh birthday would be his last.
He could finally become real.
To do so, he needed one permanent memory from every guest and a life from the person who named him.
Georgia stood.
“No.”
The walls began whispering.
Every voice belonged to someone Georgia had left behind.
Burden said she could choose another ending.
If Georgia told the complete truth about the night at the gas station, the ritual would end. Everyone would remember Burden, but he would disappear.
Georgia asked whether he would die.
Burden replied, “I was never alive in the way you mean.”
Austin began crying.
“You’re alive to me.”
Burden looked at him.
“That’s why this hurts.”
Georgia approached the cake.
She could confess and lose Burden, or continue the birthday and give him the life he had been collecting for years.
Ginny begged her to tell the truth.
Georgia said the truth would not save the real child.
“No,” Ginny replied. “But another lie won’t save this one.”
Burden closed his eyes.
“Make a wish, Mom.”
Georgia’s Confession
Georgia sat beside him.
She described the gas station.
She remembered the child’s torn jacket, muddy shoes, and frightened expression. He asked if she could use her phone. Georgia lied and said she didn’t have one.
She feared whoever was searching for the child might also find her and Ginny.
The boy asked for a ride.
Georgia refused.
He grabbed the car door before she closed it.
She pushed his hand away.
As she drove off, she saw him running after the car.
She never returned.
Georgia spent years telling herself she had protected Ginny.
Maybe she had.
She had also left another frightened child alone.
Both things could be true.
The kitchen changed as she spoke.
The layers of decorations peeled away. The walls returned to normal. The missing front door reappeared.
Burden began fading.
Austin grabbed his hand.
His fingers passed through it.
Ginny asked if he was afraid.
Burden nodded.
Nobody offered him a comforting lie.
Instead, Ginny said she would remember him.
Maxine promised the same.
Abby, Norah, Marcus, Joe, Paul, Zion, Ellen, and Austin repeated it.
Burden looked at Georgia.
She struggled to speak.
Finally, she said, “You were never a burden.”
He gave her a tired smile.
“You needed eleven years to come up with that?”
Georgia laughed through her tears.
“Apparently.”
Burden leaned over the cake.
Before blowing out the candles, he whispered his wish.
The audio became distorted, but the subtitles revealed it:
I wish someone went back for him.
He extinguished the candles.
The episode went black.
The Second Version of the Party
For several seconds, the screen remained dark.
Then the opening birthday scene repeated.
The kitchen was decorated. Everyone stood around the cake.
This time, Burden was visible.
The group sang “Happy Birthday” normally. He smiled awkwardly while Georgia stood behind him with both hands on his shoulders.
For a moment, it seemed like a happier version of the memory.
Then Ginny noticed the candles.
There were twelve.
She looked toward the camera.
Burden had only turned eleven.
Another child stood outside the kitchen window.
A frightened boy in a torn jacket watched the party from the darkness.
He pressed his hands against the glass.
Burden saw him.
His smile disappeared.
The song ended.
Everyone applauded.
The child outside knocked.
Georgia froze.
Three soft knocks.
No one moved.
The child knocked again.
Austin asked who was there.
Burden stood from his chair.
Georgia grabbed his arm.
“Don’t open it.”
Burden looked at her.
“You said someone should have gone back.”
The knocking became louder.
Cracks spread across the window.
Georgia told everyone to move away.
Burden pulled free.
He approached the glass.
The child outside raised one hand.
Burden did the same.
Their palms aligned on opposite sides of the window.
The glass dissolved.
The two children stood face-to-face.
They looked almost identical, except the child from the gas station was younger and more frightened.
He asked Burden, “Did she come back?”
Burden looked toward Georgia.
“No.”
The younger child nodded as though he had expected the answer.
“Then why do you get a birthday?”
The kitchen lights went out.
The Real Lost Birthday
When the lights came back on, Georgia was alone.
The decorations had rotted. Gray mold covered the cake. Hundreds of melted candles crowded its surface.
The Miller house appeared abandoned.
Snow had blown through broken windows and collected on the floor.
Georgia called for Ginny and Austin.
No one answered.
She ran upstairs.
The hallway contained eleven doors.
Behind the first, Ginny celebrated her birthday without Georgia.
Behind the second, Austin sat alone at a table.
Behind the third, Burden waited at the gas station.
Behind the fourth door, the unnamed child kept running after Georgia’s car.
Every remaining room contained a person Georgia had left, deceived, or forced herself to forget.
At the end of the hall stood the twelfth door.
It had no name.
Georgia opened it.
Inside was the Miller kitchen during the party. Everyone was gathered around Burden, happy and alive.
Georgia tried entering, but an invisible barrier blocked her.
Ginny noticed her.
She walked toward the doorway.
Georgia begged to be let inside.
Ginny asked, “What did you bring?”
Georgia did not understand.
“It’s his birthday,” Ginny said. “You have to bring a memory.”
Georgia searched her pockets.
They were empty.
Behind her, the abandoned house began disappearing.
Georgia pressed both hands against the barrier.
“Please.”
Burden joined Ginny at the door.
He no longer looked angry.
“You gave everything away so you could keep moving,” he said.
Georgia asked what she had left.
Burden looked into her eyes.
“The part that remembers why.”
He closed the door.
The Final Recording
The episode cut to the Miller kitchen in the present.
Ginny woke at the table.
The party was over.
Everyone else had gone home. Austin slept on the couch. Georgia stood at the sink, washing icing from the plates.
There was no sign of Burden.
Ginny asked whether the birthday had happened.
Georgia said, “What birthday?”
Ginny looked toward the wall.
The calendar showed October sixteenth.
The previous day was blank.
No circle.
No name.
No rules.
Ginny rushed upstairs.
The fourth bedroom was gone. A narrow wall stood where the door had been.
She returned to the kitchen and asked Georgia whether she remembered a child at the gas station.
Georgia’s hands stopped beneath the running water.
After a long silence, she said yes.
That was all.
Ginny sat beside Austin and found something clenched in his hand.
A small patch embroidered with the number eleven.
She placed it on the table.
Georgia stared at it.
Neither spoke.
The episode appeared to end there.
The credits began, but they contained an additional cast listing:
BURDEN MILLER — AS HIMSELF
THE CHILD AT THE WINDOW — UNAVAILABLE
At the end of the credits, a final scene appeared.
The birthday photograph from the fan forum filled the screen.
Georgia, Ginny, Austin, and Burden stood behind the cake.
This time, his face hadn’t been scratched out.
He looked like a normal child.
Then the image slowly widened.
Someone else stood at the edge of the photograph.
A younger boy wearing a torn jacket.
On the back wall, a new banner had appeared:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO WHICHEVER ONE SHE REMEMBERS
The children turned toward each other.
Burden reached for the younger boy’s hand.
The photograph became a video.
Together, they walked out of the frame.
The empty chair remained.
What Happened to My Copy
The file ended at exactly 3:11 a.m.
When I checked my downloads folder, the video was gone.
The original photograph remained, but it had changed.
The cake no longer said, “Happy Birthday, Burden.”
Now it said:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, [MY NAME]
Candles on the cake matched my age.
I deleted the image.
It returned the next day.
This time, it showed the kitchen from a different angle.
I was sitting in the empty chair.
I tried deleting it again.
Another version appeared.
In each new photograph, the birthday party had progressed.
In the first, everyone stood around me.
In the second, the candles were lit.
In the third, Georgia placed a hand on my shoulder.
In the fourth, Burden stood behind my chair.
In the fifth, the unnamed child appeared outside the window.
The final image arrived this morning.
The chair was empty.
Everyone was looking toward the camera.
Written across the wall were the five birthday rules:
Everyone must attend.
No one may leave before the candles are out.
The birthday child chooses the first memory.
Do not ask what happened to the person who watched.
If the viewer is absent, continue as though they are present.
My birthday is not October fifteenth.
At least, I do not think it is anymore.
The calendar on my wall says it is today.
Someone has decorated my kitchen.
Eleven candles sit on the table, though the cake has my name on it.
A red fox sweater hangs over the empty chair.
Upstairs, a child is moving around in a room my house didn’t have yesterday.
A few minutes ago, Georgia called from the other side of my front door.
She said everyone is waiting.
Burden is singing now.
He keeps repeating the first line because I have not joined in.
And beneath his voice, I can hear another child at the window.
Knocking.
Waiting to find out which one of them I remember.
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