He comes home at 11 pm, just to see a half-eaten cake with a burnt candle of number 16 left on the kitchen counter. He freezes, heart drops to his stomach, breath quickens as he grip his hair.

Apparently, he forgot his own child's birthday.

"No... no no no... You screwed up again."

Before he knows it, he's already standing in front of your room. It takes the man every bit of his courage to knock on your door.

"C-can... can I come in?"

He says, voice low and quivering.