Dad Rejected Me, Mom Was a Star

Chapter 4

Three days after I moved in, Vera came over again.

"Asher, I had this cake specially flown in from Paris. I thought you'd like it."

Dad sat on the couch flipping through papers, not looking up.

"Put it over there."

Vera smiled and set the box on the coffee table.

She opened it to reveal a white cake covered in delicate chocolate roses.

My eyes were glued to it.

It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Mom and I had only ever looked at cakes like this through bakery windows.

Vera noticed me staring.

"Would you like a piece, Stella?"

I looked at her, then at the cake, and nodded shyly.

She cut me a small slice and handed it to me.

I took a tiny bite with my spoon.

It was so sweet and soft that it melted in my mouth.

"Is it good?"

I nodded and closed my eyes, folding my hands together like Mom taught me to do before meals.

When I opened them, Vera was smiling.

"What did you wish for, sweetie?"

"I wished Mom could have a piece of this cake. She never got to eat anything like this."

Vera glanced at Dad out of the corner of her eye.

"Your mother's traveling the world. She's eaten better cakes than this.

"I bet she's having dessert right now in some fancy restaurant in Italy."

Dad finally looked up from his papers.

He stared at me, his eyes cold.

"Your mother is incredibly cruel, leaving you here all alone and never coming to check on you."

I didn't say anything. I just ate my cake slowly, one tiny bite at a time.

But Mom really hadn't eaten anything like this.

In her last months, she could barely even drink water.

She was nothing but skin and bones, too weak to even sit up in bed.

But she'd still stroke my hair and say, "When I get better, we'll go get the biggest, prettiest cake in the whole bakery."

The sweetness turned bitter on my tongue.

On Father's Day morning, I woke up early.

I took out the glitter card again and looked at it.

The "DAD" was still shiny, and the stars were still bright.

But the biggest one, Mom's star, had faded a little from all my touching.

I also took out the envelope Mom had left for Dad.

It was thick and heavy in my hands.

After all these days, I finally understood.

Mom wasn't coming. She really was a star in the sky.

Dad said I was a liar.

But I thought he was the liar.

He said Mom would come get me, but she never would.

He said Mom had five million dollars and was living a good life, but she couldn't even afford her medicine.

I grabbed the card and the envelope and went downstairs.

"Dad." I handed him the card. "Happy Father's Day."

He took it and looked at it, but didn't say anything.

Then I held out the envelope.

"And this. Mom left this for you."

He didn't take it.

He stared at the envelope in my hand, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"Keep it. I want your mother to hand it to me herself."

I shook my head. "She can't."

"She will. When she's tired of playing games, she'll come."

My voice cracked. "She's never coming!"

My hand shook, and the envelope slipped from my fingers.

It hit the floor, and the unsealed flap fell open.

A single sheet of paper slid out.

The words at the top were written in big, shaky letters:

FINAL LETTER FROM ELARA MOORE

Dad froze.