Journal Entry

Living with people means learning things about them.

Favorite foods. Bad habits. What makes them laugh.

Sometimes it also means realizing what you don't know.

Turns out we've been living together for months, and there are still things about Maggie we never thought to ask.

We fixed that this morning.

Kind of.

Dr. Anderson came upstairs before breakfast had even started, still buttoning the cuff of one sleeve as he crossed the room. He had clearly come from the basement office in a hurry, his glasses slightly crooked and his expression carrying the unmistakable look of a man who had just remembered something terrible.

"I just realized something."

Nobody paid much attention at first.

John was standing over the stove making oatmeal. Karen sat at the table helping Jonas untangle a knot he'd somehow managed to create in one of his sweatshirt strings. Elliott's voice drifted down the hallway from his bedroom while Harry argued back about something involving comic books, superheroes, and apparently a complete misunderstanding of how physics worked.

Maggie sat on the couch with a book balanced on her knee.

James looked up from the notebook where he was sketching plans for a new section of perimeter fencing.

"What?"

Dr. Anderson stopped in the middle of the room.

"We missed Maggie's birthday."

The entire cabin went silent.

Maggie slowly lowered her book.

"My what?"

Her father's eyes widened.

"You turned sixteen."

Karen's hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh no."

John grimaced immediately.

"Oh, that's bad."

"It's not bad," Maggie said.

"It is absolutely bad," Karen replied.

"No, really. It's fine."

"Maggie."

"I'm serious."

Dr. Anderson crossed the room and sat beside her.

"No, sweetheart, it's not fine. Sixteen is a huge birthday."

"Dad..."

"It is."

"Dad."

"You only turn sixteen once."

Maggie groaned quietly.

Her father ignored her.

"I know things aren't exactly normal anymore, but that doesn't change the fact that you've grown into an incredible young woman and I'm unbelievably proud of you. I don't say it enough, but after everything you've endured over the last years, after everything you've survived and everything you've done for this family, I need you to know—"

"Dad."

Dr. Anderson stopped.

Maggie's face had turned bright red.

Across the room, Karen was already smiling.

John looked suspiciously amused.

"It's okay," Maggie said quietly. "A birthday isn't that important anymore."

"Yes it is."

The answer came so quickly that every head in the room turned toward James.

He looked genuinely offended, "Are you kidding?"

Maggie blinked. "What?"

"Sixteen is a huge deal."

"James..."

"No."

He closed his notebook.

"Nope. Not happening."

Maggie narrowed her eyes.

"What isn't happening?"

"You pretending your sweet sixteenth birthday doesn't matter."

"It doesn't."

"It does."

"It doesn't."

"It absolutely does."

Karen laughed.

John immediately looked interested in where this was going.

Maggie pointed at James.

"You're impossible."

"And you're wrong."

"I don't need a birthday party."

James looked at her for a long moment.

Then he stood.

"Doc."

Dr. Anderson looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Tell the adults we're celebrating tomorrow night."

Maggie's eyes widened.

"James."

He ignored her.

Then he turned toward the hallway.

"Kids!"

The response was immediate.

A door opened.

Another door opened.

Something crashed.

Jonas yelled.

Harry yelled back.

A few seconds later all three kids appeared.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Did somebody die?" Elliott asked.

Jonas looked excited. "Can I have their stuff?"

"No," Karen answered.

The youngest boy sighed.

"Okay."

James pointed toward them.

"Start making decorations."

The boys stared.

"For what?" Elliott asked.

"A birthday."

Nobody moved.

James smiled.

"More importantly, a sixteenth birthday."

The reaction was immediate.

Harry grinned.

Jonas jumped.

Elliott pointed dramatically at Maggie.

"Wait."

Maggie groaned.

"Oh no."

Elliott's eyes widened.

"You turned sixteen?"

"Apparently."

"That's ancient."

Harry immediately shoved her.

"She's literally six years older than you."

"Exactly." Elliott said proudly.

"That's not how age works."

"It is if you're ten."

Jonas looked between them.

"Can we make a cake?" He asked.

The room grew noticeably quieter.

Nobody answered immediately.

Cake ingredients were precious now.

Flour could be scavenged.

Sugar could be rationed.

Eggs came from the chickens.

But making something unnecessary simply because it would make someone happy wasn't a decision people made often anymore.

James broke the silence.

"We'll make a cake."

Maggie immediately shook her head.

"No."

"We're making a cake."

"James."

"A big one."

"We don't need a big cake."

"Then two cakes."

Karen laughed so hard she nearly spilled her coffee.

"You're making this worse." His mother pointed out.

"Good."

John pointed toward the boys.

"Alright. Decorations. If we're doing this, we're doing it properly."

The three disappeared instantly.

A second later an argument erupted down the hallway.

Harry wanted streamers.

Elliott wanted a banner.

Jonas apparently wanted a giant birthday dragon.

The details became difficult to follow after that.

For the first time in months, the cabin felt loud.

Not survival loud.

Not panic loud.

Family loud.

The kind of noise that existed because people were comfortable enough to be ridiculous.

Maggie sat quietly while the chaos unfolded around her.

Her father resumed talking about birthday plans.

Karen began brainstorming food.

John offered to help build something decorative despite having absolutely no artistic talent whatsoever.

James simply watched.

After a moment Maggie caught him looking at her.

He wasn't smiling.

Not exactly.

There was something softer than that in his expression.

Something that made her chest tighten unexpectedly.

"What?" she asked.

James leaned back against the table.

"You thought nobody would care."

She looked away.

"Maybe."

"You were wrong."

The words were simple.

Matter-of-fact.

Certain.

Maggie swallowed.

Outside, snow drifted slowly past the windows.

Inside, the kids continued arguing about birthday dragons.

For just a second, while laughter echoed through the cabin and everyone talked over each other and tomorrow's celebration somehow became the most important thing in the world, Maggie found herself remembering what birthdays used to feel like.

Normal.

Not before the outbreak.

Not before everything fell apart.

Just normal.

And as she looked around the room at the family they had somehow built from grief and survival and stubborn determination, she realized that maybe normal hadn't disappeared after all.

Maybe it had simply changed shape.