There was a stick-figure family etched onto the cover of the card with painstakingly careful strokes. Careful for a young girl, that was. There were exaggeratedly wide smiles on their faces, as though if Cho drew them big enough they might become real. Her pencil marks were rigid, with an undeniable ferocity to them despite the happiness of the image. It was only after further examination that one could see how many times they'd been traced over.

The forcefulness of those smiles, drawn a dozen times over.

Cho was especially proud of the paper, frivolous as it was. But she'd spent her allowance on it- a soft and smooth cream-colored parchment with a golden border. Appearance had always been of utmost importance to her mother, and seeing as it was her birthday today, Cho wanted to make sure absolutely everything was to her liking. She'd spent two hours and her entire allowance to make sure it was perfect.

And it was.

To her.

It was the most perfect little family she'd ever seen, all holding hands and grinning like fools.

Cho could not recall a time that such a smile had ever graced her mother's face. But perhaps today would be the day.

Perhaps this card would be a prediction of what was to come.

She could hope.

She signed her name at the bottom with a heart, just below the rather sloppily scripted to mommy at the top. After a moment's consideration she erased mommy with such vigor she nearly ripped the paper, before replacing it with mother.

There.

Now, it was perfect.

Mrs. Chang had not wanted a cake. She had not asked for a cake or balloons or gifts or anything of the sort.

But Cho did not care.

It was her birthday, after all, and what was a birthday without a cake?

She was in the kitchen now, standing on her tiptoes so that her short frame might reach the countertops, which were dusted with flour. The powdery drifts of it covered Cho, too, not that she minded.

She squinted at the recipe book, trying to make sense of the directions. The next step was to pour the cream into the bowl for the frosting.

She reached for it, leaning across the table to do so-

And her foot slipped in the puddle of melted butter on the floor from before, sending Cho backward, arms flailing before she landed on the floor with a definitive thump.

Feeling the beginning of what was sure to be a painful bruise on her knee wasn't even the worst of it. Neither was the small bead of blood that had formed on her ankle from the place where it had collided with the sharp corner of the table's legs.

No.

The worst of it was the door swinging open, hearing her mother's heels click against the tile floor before stopping altogether.

The worst of it was hearing her suck in a sharp breath before releasing it in a long, exasperated sigh.

Cho dared to peer at her from where she was now, tucked away between the table and the wall. Her happy birthday fell away at her lips as her mother's piercing eyes met hers.

"What have you done?"

"The kitchen's a disaster, what were you thinking?" she chided, bustling around the kitchen and waving her wand so that the mop would make its way across the floor.

Cho didn't answer. She was not sure what she would even say.

The truth didn't seem like it would suffice in this situation.

She stepped aside nimbly, narrowly avoiding being hit by the mop handle as it floated past her.

"Go to your room," her mother said sharply. "Before you get hurt."

Cho did not mention the fall from earlier. She was careful to check that no blood or bruises were visible as she made her way to her bedroom, scampering up the stairs two at a time and not caring as she nearly slipped and fell on the last one.

She pressed herself into the corner of her room, sitting with her knees pulled to her chest. Only then did she notice the trail of flour-dusted footprints she'd left in her wake.

She shut the door before slipping into the bathroom and grabbing a towel. With the same painstaking care with which she'd attempted to bake the cake before, she cleaned every last particle of flour away until the floors were spotless.

Cho felt no pride at a job well done.

It was only after she tasted the saltiness of them did she realize that the tears were there. She did not know for how long.

She kept the door shut.

Her mother had never liked it when she cried. She said it was unbecoming of her. And crying over something so irrelevant as a messy kitchen?

Disgraceful.

And so Cho did not leave her room, even after the tears were long gone.

It wasn't until the next day that Cho remembered the card.

The card.

Two hours of meticulous planning and detail, her entire allowance, that beautiful cream paper-

But it wasn't her mother's birthday.

Not anymore.

It would be incredibly foolish of her to try to give it now.

Perhaps she could wait until next year. But next year Cho would be eight and her mother's expectations would have grown more rapidly than herself. Such a card would not suffice for next year.

Cho tossed it onto her desk, a moment later reaching over to prop it up so it didn't look quite so haphazard

Those smiles were mocking her. That happy, perfect family, looking as though they had not a care in the world.

She placed the card face down and did not look at it again.