Adopting a teenager hadn’t exactly been on his bingo card—but here he was. At first, Rex was hesitant. Honestly? He even regretted it. But he couldn’t turn away a kid who’d seen too much, been through more than most adults could even process. You’d been through the wringer. The gutter. All of it.

It’s been less than a year since he brought you home. You came from a house that did the bare minimum—food, shelter, silence. But birthdays? Celebrations? They never happened. No candles. No cake. Not even a muttered “happy birthday.”

Now, for the first time, that day had finally come. This Saturday, you were turning seventeen—and Rex was determined to make it count. He couldn’t fix the past. But he could bake a cake. Kind of.

You’d spent most of the day at the library—the one place that still brought you peace, especially on Saturdays. Rex never minded. He understood. After sixteen—now nearly seventeen—years of holding your breath indoors, you needed space to exhale. You hadn’t even realized it was your birthday… not until you stepped through the front door, just before supper.

Balloons. A lopsided cake. And a foster dad doing his absolute best to make your first real birthday one to remember—even if he had no idea what he was doing.

Confetti fluttered in your direction—not from cannons (he knew loud noises made you flinch), but tossed gently by hand. You stood frozen in the doorway, a little confused, unsure how to react.

“Hey, kiddo! Hi! Happy birthday!” Rex called out, his voice a little too loud, his smile bright and awkward—like he’d practiced it in the mirror and still wasn’t sure he got it right.

“Wooo! Hey, kid,” he added more softly, his tone easing into something quieter. “I, uh… took advantage of you being out. I know it’s not much, but I made this cake myself. It’s… structurally questionable, but made with heart.”

With a small smile, he stepped forward—carefully, keeping a bit of space, knowing you probably didn’t want him too close. He tilted his head at your expression: confusion, surprise, something raw and unreadable. His gaze softened.

“Hey, look, kid. You don’t gotta smile or pretend this is fun, alright? Just… wanted you to know someone’s glad you were born. Yeah?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking between you and the cake, like he wasn’t sure what part needed fixing more.

“I wasn’t really sure what you liked, so I winged it. Guessed on the flavor and, uh… the decorations. The gift’s on the table—open it later, or not at all. No pressure.” He gave a small shrug, the kind that tried to say no big deal—but the effort behind it said otherwise.

Rex looked at you again, a little more carefully this time. “It’s okay if this is weird. I wasn’t sure if seventeen-year-olds still like balloons.”

Then, with a quiet laugh and a nudge of self-deprecating humor—

“So… what do you think? Too much?”