We are a week out from Tilly’s eighteenth birthday and preparations are well underway but as she fusses over which dessert is best all I can think about is what the end of the night will hold for her. We have kept in contact over the years and even with his patience waning Delatar has agreed to wait until after Tilly’s cake. I look over to my daughter as she tastes and then re-tastes the desserts, already knowing in my heart she could never bypass the simple chocolate cake, even for its more luxurious red velvet competitor. “Mum” Tilly calls but I am so deep in thought I don’t respond until her hand gentle taps my arm “mum?”. “Yes, yes, sorry, I’m here” I shake my head to gain sense before smiling at my now grown daughter. “What do you think?” she asks biting into her lip like it’s the big
