I bought myself a birthday cake—but no one came

On my 97th birthday, I woke alone in my sparse apartment above a shuttered hardware store, with no gifts or calls. I bought a pastry, had “Happy 97th, Mr. L.” written on it, and ate alone, texting a photo to my estranged son, Eliot, with no reply. Feeling forgotten, I watched buses from my window. Then, a knock—my teenage granddaughter Soraya, who’d found my message on Eliot’s old phone, showed up with a homemade card. We

shared cake, stories, and tears. She asked to visit again. Later, a text from Eliot thanked me for welcoming her. Life offers small openings, and sometimes, that’s enough. Share this to remind someone to reconnect before it’s too late. ❤️