Morning Dew Loves the Dawn, Twilight Snow Fails the Returning One

I'd just blown out the candles on my twenty-eighth birthday, alone, and picked up my chopsticks to eat. Then John Sanchez sat down across from me. He ignored my shock and slid a property deed across the table. "For you. Happy birthday." The fork slipped from my hand and clattered down. The deed was for a downtown mansion. Five thousand square feet. Worth two million dollars.