When the back door closed behind Lucy, Alexander sank onto a stool. He stared at the unfinished batter, the scattered flour, the small pink hair bows left behind on the counter.
That night, alone in his study, rain pouring outside, he poured himself a glass of whiskey.
A knock came at the door.
“Come in,” he muttered.
Mrs. Carmichael entered, holding a tablet.
“The girls didn’t eat dinner,” she said quietly. “And I think you need to see this.”
“I’m not in the mood for reports,” he replied. “I made a mistake. I’ll hire someone better tomorrow.”
She looked at him sharply.
“No, sir. You didn’t make a mistake. You committed an atrocity.”
Before he could respond, she tapped the screen.
A video began to play.
It showed the kitchen—earlier that morning. Lucy adjusted the camera as the girls giggled.
“Ready, my loves?” Lucy’s voice said warmly. “Remember, this is a surprise for Daddy. It has to be perfect when he gets home—because tomorrow is his 40th birthday.”
Alexander’s breath caught.
He had forgotten his own birthday.
On screen, the girls faced the camera. Sophie stepped forward, her tiny hands trembling.