april wakes up to the sound of a plane overhead. groans and shoves the blankets aside. runs her fingers through the knots in her hair and gives up. walks down a dim hallway to the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker. on the table she finds a gift and a note: hey, you survived 24 years on this planet. i’m proud of you. only march would know exactly how to say happy birthday without saying it. only march would know exactly how she felt without her saying a word.