The silence was deafening. I woke up in my Manhattan apartment, the city unusually quiet on a Sunday morning. Reaching for my phone, I expected the usual barrage of birthday greetings, a digital chorus of well-wishes from family and friends. Instead, I was met with… nothing. No call from my mom, a woman who usually scheduled her calls weeks in advance. No text from my dad, a master of the emoji-laden message. Not even a half-hearted Facebook post, the kind they bestowed upon distant acquaintances. A cold dread began to creep in, settling in the pit of my stomach. By lunchtime, the digital snub became agonizingly public. My mom had posted a throwback photo of my little brother, Ethan – her self-proclaimed \
Parents Forgot My Birthday, So I Did THIS!
