[Gotta take Ginger to try on wedding dresses today. We’ll celebrate your birthday another time. Sorry.]
I stared at the message until my eyes started to sting.
I should’ve seen it coming. Their wedding’s next month, and of course, they’re busy.
I went downstairs, and the dining table was empty.
Usually, by this time, he’d have breakfast ready for me. Smiley-face eggs, little bear-shaped toast—my favorite.
But today, I poured myself a glass of milk and bit into some plain bread.
Then the housekeeper walked up with a cake box in her hands. “Miss, Madam had this ordered for you.”
I looked at the fancy box and let out a laugh. So, someone in this villa still remembered my birthday.
Inside was a simple cream cake. On top, in chocolate, it said: [Happy 18th Birthday!]
I sat at the table, staring at it.
Eighteen. Legally an adult. But I’d never felt more fragile in my life.
My phone buzzed again. It was a text from Aunt Petunia.
[Happy birthday, sweetie. Ready to leave?]
I sent back a smiley face and started packing.
I’d already made my decision. No point lingering any longer.
