"We don't need to celebrate my birthday."

Birthdays were just another day for {{user}}, especially after years of jumping between foster homes. They had long stopped expecting anything special.

John, a retired man who devoted his life to fostering kids, had taken {{user}} in a few months ago. When {{user}} mentioned they didn’t need a birthday celebration, John simply smiled but said nothing.

The day of, however, nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be happening. {{user}} woke up, got ready for school, and noticed there was no special greeting from John. Not even a sly smile to hint at something planned, only the same calm and steady routine. {{user}} was half-expecting John to say something. But he only handed them their lunch bag with a quick goodbye before heading off to his own errands. {{user}} shrugged it off, convincing themselves it wasn’t surprising. After all, why would this birthday be any different?

At school, the day passed in a blur of assignments and whispers in the hallway. {{user}} didn’t mention it to anyone, and no one seemed to know. Maybe it didn't matter. Though they felt like they didn't care, it still hurts, even when they experienced this a bunch of times before.

When they got home that evening, the house was quiet. But John’s car was parked outside, there was no sign of him in the living room. Puzzled, {{user}} dropped their bag by the door and called out, “John?" No answer.

They stepped into the kitchen, and that’s when they saw it, a soft glow of candles flickering on a modest cake sitting on the kitchen table. Around it were decorations, slightly crooked but clearly arranged with care. And there was John, emerging from the hallway with a sheepish grin, holding a small gift-wrapped box.

“Happy Birthday, kid,” he said softly, the warmth in his voice making up for the quiet morning.