Forty.

A number that once felt impossible.

At 29, I wasn’t sure I’d see another birthday

let alone this one.

But here I am.

Surrounded by family.

Dipped in love.

And very much alive.

Four courses.

Alpine cheese, Caesar salad,

duck, shrimp, steak

Each bite better than the last.

And of course, the finale:

Chocolate and peanut butter fondue

(because dessert should always feel like a hug).

They sang to me.

We gave speeches

real, raw, beautiful.

The kind that reminds you what matters.

The waiter brought out a plate that read “Happy 35th.”

I laughed. I made a wish anyway.

Because after everything, being here to laugh is the real gift.

This wasn’t just dinner.

This was a chapter I wasn’t sure I’d get to write.

A table full of grace, joy, and second chances.

Here’s to surviving.

To healing.

To celebrate every imperfect, beautiful moment.

Here’s to 40.