I planned a quiet BBQ for my 40th—just a few friends, food, maybe a couple of dad jokes. I wasn’t really in the mood to celebrate. My parents had passed just months apart, and I felt more alone than ever, even with people around. But Mara, my wife, insisted. “You need this,” she said. So I agreed.The evening started normally—until every guest showed up with black-wrapped gifts. At first,

I thought it was a weird coincidence, maybe a theme I’d missed. But as more black bags piled up,and guests gave each other knowing looks, I realized something was going on.As the sun set, Mara tapped her glass and told me it was time to open the gifts. One by one, I pulled out a black coffee mug, a plain T-shirt, a book. Then baby items—a rattle, a tiny blanket. Confused,