I kept the plan to myself.
That was harder than it sounded.
Usually, I told Tyler almost everything.
If I bought him something, I wanted to give it to him immediately.
If I planned something, I nearly ruined it by asking suspicious questions.
This time, I stayed quiet.
That morning, Tyler kissed me goodbye while I was still standing in the kitchen with a mug of coffee in my hand.
“Don’t do anything crazy today,” he said.
I smiled.
“Why would I?”
He narrowed his eyes at me for a second.
That look almost broke me.
Then he laughed, grabbed his bag, and headed out.
“Love you,” he called.
“Love you too.”
The front door shut behind him.
I waited about ten seconds before smiling to myself.
The plan wasn’t complicated. That was what I liked about it.
No giant party. No reservations that might get ruined by an emergency call. No pressure.
Just me showing up.
I’d done this once before, years ago, and the guys had practically thrown a parade.
Tyler had been so embarrassed and so happy at the same time.
Back then, he had only been at the station for a few years.
I still remembered walking in with cupcakes and watching several firefighters immediately start yelling that someone’s “girlfriend” had arrived, even though Tyler and I were already married.
Tyler had turned bright red.
One of the guys had put a paper birthday crown on his head.
Another had taken a picture before Tyler could stop him.
Tyler complained about that picture for months.
He also kept it.
That memory was part of why I felt so good about going this time.
The station had always seemed like Tyler’s second home.
I knew some of the firefighters well enough to recognize their cars.
I knew which guys were loud, which ones were quiet, and which ones could turn anything into a joke.
They had been around for pieces of our life together.
Weddings.
Babies.
Promotions.
Bad calls.
Long nights.
I wasn’t walking into a room full of strangers.
At least, that was what I thought.
I picked up the cake shortly before heading over.
The bakery employee handed me the white box carefully.
“Birthday?”
“My husband’s.”
“Big plans?”
I glanced at the balloons stuffed into the back seat of my car.
“Hopefully.”
She laughed and wished him a happy birthday.
I drove away feeling ridiculously pleased with myself.
The balloons kept drifting into my rearview mirror.
At one stoplight, a silver balloon slid forward and bumped the side of my face.
“You’re going to ruin this before I get there,” I muttered.
I pushed it away and kept driving.
The station wasn’t far.
I’d made the trip enough times that I barely thought about the route.
I passed the grocery store Tyler liked, the gas station where he always bought terrible coffee, and the intersection where I’d once waited nearly 20 minutes because a freight train seemed determined to ruin my afternoon.
Everything felt normal.
That detail would stick with me later.
There was nothing in the drive that warned me.
No strange call.
No message.
No missed notification.
Nothing.
I parked out front, balloons bouncing against the roof of my car, and walked up to the bay doors with the cake balanced carefully in both hands.
I expected someone to notice immediately.
They did.
Just not the way I expected.
Nobody smiled.
That was the first thing I noticed, before I even said a word.
A few of the guys looked up, then looked at each other, then looked away from me entirely, like they were waiting for someone else to speak first.
For a second, I wondered if I’d interrupted something serious.
The station wasn’t loud like I remembered.
No television blaring in the background.
No one calling across the room.
No stupid joke flying in my direction.
The air felt strangely still.
I tightened my fingers around the cake box.
Maybe they’d had a difficult call.
That happened.
Tyler had told me before that sometimes the station stayed quiet afterward. Everyone processed things differently.
I told myself that was all this was.
Then I noticed one firefighter glance at the balloons and immediately lower his eyes.
Another man cleared his throat and walked toward the far side of the bay.
My excitement started slipping.
Not disappearing.
Just changing.
