"Mommy, Mommy! I don't want Daddy! I don't want Daddy! I want Daddy Patrick to be my daddy! Daddy is no good at anything. He's just a boring old hick!"
Hilary's shrill voice cut through his thoughts.
Hildegarde gazed at Patrick, her eyes soft with affection. She pinched Hilary's rosy cheek and cooed, "Alright, alright. Daddy Patrick can be your daddy. Mommy promises, okay?"
Then she turned to Wilfred, and her expression went cold again.
"Wilfred, what are you still doing here? Haven't you embarrassed yourself enough? Get to the kitchen and make Patrick's tarts!"
Wilfred's heart felt like it was being carved up with a knife.
Everything inside him turned to ash.
Without a word, he walked back to the kitchen.
He carefully removed the birthday cake he'd baked from the oven—his final gift to his daughters.
Once he brought the cake out and celebrated one last birthday with them, he would leave this house forever.
Then a small hand wrapped around his leg from behind.
"Daddy!"
Wilfred looked down.
It was Penelope Dickerson.
Hildegarde had given him twin daughters. The elder was Hilary; the younger was Penelope.