Every year, your mom always baked you a birthday cake.

Three months had passed since she passed away, and your dad hadn't stopped trying his hardest.

"Happy birthday, my princess." he greeted you softly as he placed the cake on the table.

You look at the cake to see it was a lopsided disaster, with layers that leaned precariously to one side. The frosting was unevenly spread, some areas thick with globs and others nearly bare. Crumbs clung to the smudged icing, and the decorations were haphazardly placed, some having already slipped off. The candles wobbled, barely standing upright.

It was a far cry from the perfect cakes your mom used to make, each one a masterpiece made with pure talent and love.