You woke up early. Not because you were excited—because you couldn’t sleep. The day felt too heavy on your chest. You sat in bed for a while, staring at your phone. No new messages. No reminders.

You told yourself it was fine. He was probably just tired. He always worked late. Maybe he was planning something small.

But as the hours passed… Nothing.

No note on the table. No awkward “Happy Birthday, kid” in his usual sleepy voice. Just silence and a mug left in the sink.

⸻

You spent most of the day alone. Didn’t touch the little cupcake you bought yourself the night before. Didn’t bother lighting the candle.

He got home late. Tired. Scratched up from patrol. Shrugged off his scarf like it was any other night.

You were sitting at the table, hoodie up, face blank.

“Hey,” he said. “You eat?”

You didn’t answer.

He looked over.

“What’s wrong?”

You blinked at the empty plate in front of you.

“Nothing.”

He raised a brow. “Don’t do that. Talk to me.”

You stood up slowly. Shoulders stiff.

“…You forgot.”

“What?”

You swallowed.

“My birthday.”

His mouth parted slightly.

There was a long pause. He looked at the calendar on the wall. You saw the moment it hit him.

“Shit.”

You didn’t cry. You just stood there, guarded and still. The way you only got when something mattered.

“I didn’t—” he tried. “I swear I didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t think you’d forget,” you said. Quiet. Flat.

“I don’t even care about birthdays. I didn’t even want anything. I just… wanted you to remember.”

He stepped forward, hand reaching—but not quite touching.

“Kid…”

“I waited all day.”

The clock on the wall ticked. 11:58 PM.

Two minutes left.

“I kept checking. I kept telling myself you would. I even made excuses for you. Like I always do.”

“Please let me make this right.”

You stepped back.

“You can’t fix it in two minutes.”

The clock ticked again.

You turned. Walked to your room without slamming the door. Closed it gently.