It was Arthur's birthday, the day he turned eleven. "The beginning journey to become a young adult," his father would say.
But for as long as he could remember, his family had never celebrated his birthday. They would just congratulate him and make him blow out a single candle on a cupcake. Arthur didn't mind. He didn't need a big celebration, and his family couldn't afford one, a fact he had known for a long time, despite his parents' efforts to hide it.
He woke up as usual, took a shower as usual, and did his morning chores as usual. When he returned to his room, he saw a worn, faded pamphlet on the table.
He had found that pamphlet in their mailbox among a pile of overdue letters a few days earlier, and he had been staring at it every time he saw it.
He put it down again and left the room to visit his mother, who had given birth in the early hours of that day, making his little sister share the same birthday as him, eleven years apart.
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