“Make a wish, sweetheart,” Mom and Dad say in unison. But what do I wish for when my heart already knows the answer?
I blow out the candle, the flame flickering and dying like the hollow ache inside me.
I slice the cake, but each bite tastes sweeter and more bitter at the same time. Sweet because it’s my favorite, bitter because he’s not here.
My eyes keep drifting to the doorway, half-expecting him to walk in with that sharp gaze and that infuriatingly calm demeanor.
The fork shakes in my hand.
I don’t want to admit it, but I already miss him terribly.
I glance at Mom and Dad's smiling faces, blissfully unaware. They think this is a normal birthday, a family moment. And maybe it is for them. But for me? It’s a battlefield of emotions.
I hear footsteps, and my pulse jumps—maybe it’s
