Michael was supposed to be working overtime, but his paychecks never seemed to reflect the extra hours. “We just need to budget better,” he’d say, his eyes avoiding mine as he stared at the television.

Today, though, was about celebrating our daughter. As I watched Julie tear into a present from her friends, her face alight with pure joy, I felt a familiar pang of guilt. I wished I could have given her the big, fancy party she saw on TV, the one with a bouncy castle and a pony. “Next year,” I’d promised her, an empty vow that tasted like ash in my mouth. “Next year will be special.”