Chapter 5: A Wish for Myself

Just as I was about to treat the burn, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find the delivery guy holding a cake.

He looked a little surprised to see me, his eyes flicking to the bandage on my hand. I managed a smile, thanked him, and took the small box. It was the cake I’d ordered earlier, a little act of self-kindness I’d almost forgotten about.

It was the one I’d ordered for myself. Just a small cake. When you get old, you get sentimental. After my call with Emily, I went online and ordered one. Even a solo celebration is still a celebration.

I set the cake on the coffee table, the room still smelling faintly of burnt chicken. I found some candles in the drawer, stuck them in, and lit them, the flames flickering in the dim light. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Pathetic, right? But it was all I had.

I stared at the tiny flames, feeling both foolish and defiant. I’d always made a wish on my birthday, even when no one else remembered. It was a little ritual, a way to hope for something better.

Hands together, eyes closed, I made my wish.

I pressed my palms together, closed my eyes, and tried to steady my breathing. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. I focused on the warmth of the candles, the softness of the cake beneath my hands.

I’d already decided on my wish: I hoped my precious daughter would always be happy. I wished my son-in-law would always love her. I wished that sweet Maddie would be healthy and smart. That’s what I meant to wish for.

But now—

As soon as I closed my eyes, all I could see was Emily lying about working overtime, then turning around and taking her husband and daughter to celebrate Lisa Reynolds’s birthday.

The image played on a loop—Emily laughing, Maddie clapping, Adam pouring drinks. Lisa at the center, basking in their affection. I tried to push it away, but it clung to me, refusing to let go.

In the video, Lisa Reynolds was surrounded by everyone, her birthday lively and warm, like a real family.

The laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—it all felt so far away from the quiet of my living room. They looked so happy, so complete. I wondered if they even noticed I was missing.

Unlike me, sitting here alone in the cold, like the punchline to a bad joke.

I shivered, pulling my sweater tighter around me. The candles flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. I felt ridiculous, celebrating alone, pretending it didn’t matter.

My own child had become the one twisting the knife. It hurt so much.

It was a pain I’d never known, deeper than any betrayal. I’d given her everything, and she’d chosen someone else. I wondered if she even realized what she’d done.

When you’re old, it’s easy to get emotional, and tears come whether you want them to or not. Ain’t that the truth.

I wiped my eyes, frustrated with myself. I’d always prided myself on being strong, on not letting things get to me. But tonight, the tears wouldn’t stop.

Wiping my tears, I made a new wish.

I pressed my palms together again, voice trembling. This time, I wished for something just for me.

“I hope… in the days I have left, I can be happy.”

The words felt strange, unfamiliar. I’d spent so long wishing for others, I’d forgotten what it meant to hope for myself. But tonight, I let myself want something more.

Yeah.

For the first time in decades, I put myself first. It felt both selfish and freeing, a small rebellion against a lifetime of sacrifice.

All these years, my wishes were always for my child—never for myself.

I thought about all the birthdays I’d spent hoping for Emily’s happiness, for her safety, for her dreams to come true. I realized I’d never once asked for anything for myself.

But now, thinking about it, it didn’t feel worth it.

I looked at the little cake, the melted wax pooling on the icing. I wondered if all those years of putting others first had really made a difference, or if I’d just been fooling myself.

I ate a few bites of cake. It was too sweet, not tasty at all.

The sugar clung to my tongue, cloying and heavy. I pushed the plate away, appetite gone. The room felt colder than before.

I checked the time. It was already eleven at night.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, marking the hours I’d spent alone. I glanced at the empty hallway, the darkened windows. The house felt like a stranger’s.

Normally by now, I’d have finished all the chores, tucked Maddie in, and gone to bed myself.

I thought about the old routines—reading Maddie a bedtime story, folding Emily’s laundry, making sure the doors were locked. Tonight, there was nothing left to do but sit and remember.

But tonight, I couldn’t sleep.

My mind raced, replaying the day’s events, the video, the lies. Sleep felt impossible, the ache in my chest refusing to fade.

Suddenly—