He took another step forward, voice softening, attempting to draw me back into the orbit I had once inhabited. “I know I’ve neglected you. I realize that now. But we can fix this, can’t we? We could rebuild the album, start over. Another set of memories—better ones, if you let me.”
There was a time I would’ve let those words melt me, would’ve let them pull me in like a tide I couldn’t resist. But that was years ago. I had seen the way he looked at Camila, smelled the faint trace of her perfume clinging to his shirts. My heart was no longer an option.
“Sure,” I said flatly. “If you really want to make amends, start by throwing me a proper birthday party. One that doesn’t come with a side of allergies and neglect.”
His eyes flickered, caught off guard by the specificity of the request. For years, my birthdays had been forgotten or compromised because of dietary restrictions and his endless work. He had always been too busy to make them special.
A pause. Then a nod. “All right. Whatever you want,” he said, his tone hesitant, almost uncertain.