My Freedom Cost Three Hundred Dollars

Summary

My sister and I have birthdays only two days apart.

For her birthday, there was always a tiered cake from the French bakery uptown. For mine, there was a single, stale grocery-store muffin.

But this year, my eighteenth, my parents finally promised me a real cake. A chocolate one with buttercream frosting, just like the ones they got for Lottie.

So, on the evening of my birthday, I waited. And waited.

But there was nothing. No pink boxes on the counter, no sweet scent of sugar baking in the oven.

I finally walked into the kitchen, swallowing my pride. "Mom, where’s my cake?"