The cake hit the hardwood with a heavy thud, throwing pink frosting across my dress, the tablecloth, and my worn sneakers. I grabbed the edge of the dessert table, but my injured leg buckled beneath me.

For one stunned second, a paper plate spun across the floor.

Then Rachel pointed at me.

"You ruined my son's birthday!"

I stared at her, still trying to understand why her hands had slammed into my back moments earlier. "You pushed me."

She folded her arms like I was the one who had attacked her. Around us, relatives stared into their cups or pulled their children closer. Everyone had seen what happened. No one wanted to admit it.

My father crossed the room so fast I barely had time to tighten my grip on my crutch.

"You always find a way to make everything about yourself," he shouted.

"Dad, I didn't do anything."

He ripped the crutch from my hand.

My injured leg gave out immediately. I hit the floor hard, pain shooting through my hip and ribs. Before I could push myself up, my father lifted my own crutch over me.

"Apologize to your nephew."

The first strike caught the side of my head. The room tilted. Children started crying, and an adult gasped, but nobody stepped between us.

"Dad... stop."

The second strike landed across my shoulder. I curled onto my side and covered my head with both arms.

Rachel stood beside the ruined cake.

"She deserves it," she murmured.

A small red spot appeared on the floor near my hand. My nephew Noah stood near the hallway, his birthday crown crooked over one ear. He looked from me to his mother, pale and frightened.

"Please," I whispered.

Then the front door swung open.

My father froze with the crutch raised in both hands. Rachel's arms dropped. Every face turned toward the entryway.

Daniel stood there.

My brother—Rachel's husband and Noah's father—was supposed to be away until the following night. His overnight bag still hung from one shoulder, and his car keys were clenched in his hand.

He didn't shout.

He looked at the cake smashed across the floor. He looked at the frosting covering my dress, the red spot beside my fingers, and our father standing over me with my crutch.

Then he looked at Rachel.

"Move away from her."

My father slowly lowered the crutch. It slipped from his hand and struck the floor.

Rachel recovered first. "Daniel, this isn't what it looks like. She destroyed the cake and started screaming. Your dad was trying to calm her down."

Daniel crouched beside me without taking his eyes off her. He pulled off his jacket, pressed it gently against the side of my head, and asked if I could feel my injured leg.

I nodded, although even that tiny movement made the room spin.

"Who called you?" Rachel demanded.

Daniel glanced toward Noah.

My nephew raised a small tablet with trembling hands. The birthday video was still running. The screen showed a tilted view of the living room, but the audio was clear enough for everyone to hear Rachel accusing me and my father ordering me to apologize.

"Noah called me before the cake fell," Daniel said. "He said Mom and Grandpa were arguing about Auntie coming to the party."

Rachel stepped toward her son. "Give me that."