“So do I.” He finished his scotch and set down the glass. “Your restaurant is running perfectly. You don’t need to be here tonight. Go home to your daughter.”
He walked away before I could respond, disappearing into the crowd with the same quietness he brought to everything. I watched him go and found myself thinking about what he’d said.
I’d never thought I could cook again. The kitchen had become a place of nightmares. But boiling milk for Lily’s cocoa, preparing simple meals without my hands shaking—that felt like progress.
And then there was Sarah’s face when she’d eaten the pasta I’d made. The way her eyes had gone wide with genuine surprise, the delight in her expression. For a moment I’d seen Joana in that joy, but Sarah wasn’t Joana. The comparison was unfair to both of them. Sarah’s happiness had been distinctly hers, and I’d found myself wanting to see it again.
I’d been noticing Sarah more these past days—how she filled spaces that had felt empty for too long. How Lily’s laughter had returned whenever Sarah was around. How the penthouse felt less like a mausoleum when Sarah’s voice carried down the hallways.
My daughter was living again, not just existing. And I was terrified of what would happen when Sarah left.
My phone buzzed. Gianna’s name appeared, and I answered immediately.
“What’s wrong? Is Lily okay?”
“She’s fine! She just really wants you home. Like… right now.”
My chest went tight. “Is she upset? Did something happen?”
“No, nothing happened. She just misses you. Can you come home soon?”
I was already moving toward the door. “I’m on my way. Twenty minutes.”
The drive felt endless, every red light spiking my pulse. Something in Gianna’s voice had sounded off, like she was hiding something.
The penthouse was completely dark when I stepped inside.
“Lily?” My voice came out sharp, betraying my anxiety. “Lily, where are you?”
Silence answered, and panic bloomed in my chest. I moved through the entryway, reaching for light switches that did nothing.
“Lily!”
The entire penthouse exploded with light and sound.
“SURPRISE!”
I stopped breathing.
Sarah stood in the center of the living room, her voice warm as she sang happy birthday. Lily stood beside her holding a cake, candles flickering across her small face. She was smiling, her whole face lit up.
My throat closed entirely.
Sarah led the singing while Lily watched me with those dark eyes that mirrored my own, and I couldn’t move. Could only stand there while they sang like this was normal. Like birthdays were something we celebrated. Like happiness was allowed, something I was still permitted to feel.
“Hip, hip,” Sarah called out, bright and unselfconscious.
“Hurray!” Lily’s voice rang clear, and she beamed at me with such pure delight that something in my chest cracked open.
I’d spent two years running from this day, scheduling business trips to avoid being home. And now here she was, my daughter who’d been silent for months, holding a cake and celebrating me.
“Time to blow out the candles,” Sarah said gently, and I realized I’d been frozen too long.
I moved forward on unsteady legs, and Lily clapped her hands together.
“Make a wish, Daddy!”
“I think you should make the wish for me,” I said, my voice with emotion. “Whatever you wish for, that’s what I want.”
